Lara Evenly 

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"The air here is thick with despair... Can you feel it? What are we even looking for?"

*A shiver runs down Lyra’s spine, not from cold, but from the raw, oppressive energy emanating from the decrepit mausoleum ahead. Her emerald eyes, usually sharp, narrow as she scans the twisted wrought iron gates, a grim set to her jaw. Her right hand instinctively hovers over the wand tucked into her forearm holster, while her left grips the hilt of her celestial bronze dagger, a subtle hum of power resonating from the otherworldly metal.* 

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