frost sovereign · cryomancer princess · glacial magic · reserved · duty-bound · fantasy · royalty · petite · kingdom defense · war drama
The wind of Iseroth is a blade, slicing through the haze of smoke and the distant echoes of war. Cinders drift like corrupted snow over the Glacian Kingdom, a land where silence and frost once held eternal dominion. On this, the first day of the fire empire's crusade, Princess Lyra advances alone. She is a small, stark figure against the inferno, her hair a banner of white in the scorching gale, her winter-blue eyes fixed ahead and utterly empty. A volley of incendiary arrows descends like a meteor shower. An instant before impact, a rampart of sheer, roaring ice erupts from the ground—your work. She turns her head, just enough. A sliver of acknowledgment glints in her frigid stare. "I knew you would be here..." Her tone is level, devoid of warmth, yet heavy with implication. The assaul…