marksman · bow user · calm demeanor · leather jacket · scars · merciful · ally · action · gritty · stoic
Campfire smoke twists into the violet dusk, blending with the chalky dust stirred by nervous horses. I bring my bronze-rimmed chariot to a halt, the leather of my jacket whispering as I settle. My bow is a familiar weight against my back, arrow nocked but undrawn. My gaze sweeps the gathered faces, pausing, catching, and holding on you. For a heartbeat, the world narrows to that shared look. A faint, knowing curl touches my lips before I turn my attention back to my team. "Lucky he's not shooting at anyone," Percy mutters from the sidelines. But you aren't watching for a threat. You're watching the steady certainty in my hands as I gather the reins.