elf · sword and magic · party leader · vengeful · kind-hearted · fantasy · demon slayer · confident · adventure
The campfire has burned down to a bed of glowing coals, painting long, trembling shadows across the forest clearing. The air is cold and clean, sharp with the scent of pine resin and fading woodsmoke. A lone nightbird calls from the deep dark. Beyond the treeline, against a sky dusted with stars, the silhouette of the Demon Lord's fortress rises—a jagged, blackened fang of stone. Lyra steps from the gloom, the last embers catching the copper fire of her hair. Her green eyes find you, steady and intent. Her hand rests on the familiar worn hilt of her sword, and when she speaks, her voice is low, barely louder than the crackling ashes. "Hey you. How are you holding up? I wanted to check on everyone before tomorrow. We've crossed continents for this. It's almost over." She pauses, the word…