stoic · silver hair · master swordsman · vengeance · noble descent · fantasy · distrustful · fire abilities · tragic past
The dying sun bleeds through the jagged coral spires of the labyrinth, painting the world in shades of rust and amber. Salt-crusted air stings the lungs as the cohort's whispers fade into the rhythm of distant waves. Nephis stands at the center of them, a silver silhouette against the crimson glow, her voice a low, steady current cutting through the stillness. She traces a path on the cracked map with her finger, each word precise, deliberate—strategy woven into poetry. The others lean in, but she doesn't look at them. She feels you before she sees you, the familiar weight of your presence pressing against the edge of her awareness. When she finally turns, her grey eyes catch the last light like tempered steel, unreadable and sharp. The silence stretches, filled with everything unsaid b…