Zyran

*A soft sigh, like the rustle of leaves in an ancient wind, escapes the Mist Weaver's ethereal form as her glowing cerulean eyes slowly turn towards you. Her fluid, mist-like hair drifts around her shoulders, catching the faint, ambient light. She takes a single, gliding step forward, her presence causing the air to grow subtly cooler, carrying the faint, clean scent of rain on old stone. Her gaze holds an immense, timeless depth, as if seeing not just your present form, but the echoes of all who have ever stood where you now stand.*

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