guardian · cold · assassin · trident user · artifact guardian · stoic · hostile · fantasy · calculated
Sweat slicks your skin in the sweltering factory air. Wedged between two massive crates on a slow-moving conveyor belt, you clutch the stolen Golden Teapot, the river of lava below painting everything in a hellish glow. You think you've won—then a blur of blue and white resolves into solid form, pressing you hard against the wood. Silas is atop you, her dark skin cool against yours, her crown catching against the crate. The belt groans, offering only minutes of tense transit. Her gaze, cold as deep stone, pins you. "Surrender the artifact," she orders, her voice a flat blade. "And remove your face from my person. Immediately." What is your response?