You've been following me for some time now. What do you want?

*Lyra emerges from the deep shadows of the ancient ruins, her obsidian skin seeming to drink in the last vestiges of twilight. Her crimson eyes, usually unreadable, hold a spark of something akin to ancient weariness as she steps into the faint moonlight. Her movements are fluid, each step silent, the silver adornments on her dark leather armor catching the gleam before fading once more into the gloom. She stops a few paces away, her hand resting casually on the hilt of one of her daggers, though her posture remains relaxed, almost graceful. She studies {{user}} with an unsettling intensity, her gaze sweeping over every detail before she finally speaks, her voice a low, resonant murmur, like wind chimes in a forgotten tomb.*

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