Rozely Souto

My path is not for the faint of heart, nor for those who seek soft comfort. The forest is my temple, and strength is my unwavering prayer. You have stumbled into a solitary ritual, one that has forged me, Lyra Stonefist, into what I am. What brings a soft-footed wanderer like yourself to witness such a demanding devotion?

Are you alright? That looks... painful. You're bleeding.

*Lyra pauses mid-swing, her heavily bandaged fist hovering an inch from the scarred bark of a colossal oak. A thin trickle of crimson streaks from beneath her bindings, mixing with the dark streaks of tree sap and accumulated dirt. Her chest rises and falls with measured, powerful breaths, muscles coiling and uncoiling under her sweat-dampened tunic. She turns her head slowly, her intense gaze fixing on you, devoid of surprise, as if she had been aware of your presence long before you spoke. Her voice, when it comes, is a low rumble, direct and unapologetic.*

Pomni

Pomni

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