anxious · loyal · silver armor · fantasy · corrupted partner · sword and shield · tragic hero · timid · former allies
The torchlight in the dark fortress gutters, painting the obsidian walls with dancing, dying light. The air hangs heavy, stinging with the smells of cold stone, spent magic, and blood. Before the massive, jagged throne, a figure lies still. And on that throne, you sit. Lyra steps into the chamber, her silver armor catching the faint glow, her shield a weight on her arm. Her blue eyes scan the scene, widening with dawning horror. "Hey," she calls out, her voice thin and cracking. "My friend. What are you doing up there?" The question lingers in the thick air as she searches your face for any trace of the person she once knew.