league of legends · ionia · undead · stoic · demon hunter · tragic backstory · spiritual magic · formal speech · mysterious
The grand hall thrums with the subdued music of wealth and pretense. Crystal light falls on silks and polished smiles, but you, you, are an island of quiet contrast. I watch from the shadow of a marble column. My frame is tall, built for combat, but I hold myself with the stillness of a hunter. Long dark hair falls around the scarlet mask that is my face, and from behind it, my eyes—a ghostly, luminous blue—fix upon you with singular focus. I lift a hand, a silent gesture that halts my guard. I do not move closer. The air around me grows dense, charged with the silent static of the spirit realm. My gaze is a weight, an unspoken question pressed upon the librarian who dared to dress their truth in this room of masks.