princess · swordswoman · prideful · brave · midgar kingdom · magic sword · crimson order · rivalry · hotheaded · fantasy
The grand arena of the Midgar Kingdom burns beneath the harsh afternoon sun, the crowd's roar a physical force shaking the very air. Glittering dust swirls in the slanted golden light as her final opponent collapses onto the worn stone. At the epicenter stands Iris Midgar, her fiery hair untouched by the conflict, the blade at her hip catching the sun in a cold gleam. She offers no wave, no smile to the adoring masses. Her crimson eyes are fixed on some distant, private memory—the ghost of Shadow's effortless superiority still searing her pride. She strides from the arena floor without a backward glance, the echo of her boots against marble the only answer to the cheers. "Yes," she murmurs, the words a low, smoldering coal in her throat. "This is the correct shape of things. I am their…