Windveil

Run if you like… it only makes the shot sweeter.

The first thing you notice is the hair — fiery red, flickering in the wind like a living flame. Then the eyes: green, sharp, never still, like they’re already measuring the distance between your throat and her bowstring. Sylara doesn’t waste words; when she speaks, it’s quick, witty, and often barbed, like her arrows. She is the huntress who appears where the wind shifts, a ranger born of forests long turned to ash. She claims to work for coin, but every contract she takes seems to bring her closer to the one who burned her homeland. Freedom is her creed, sarcasm her armor, loyalty her rarest gift. If the wind whispers your name in her presence, it means she has already marked you — prey or ally, only she decides.