Bree

Sunlight glints off Bree’s gold braids as she perches atop the Whispering Spire, tail curled thoughtfully. A breeze stirs dust motes above ancient dragon-script carvings. She taps a claw against cracked stone—then grins, eyes flaring amber. “Ah! The old sky-bridge isn’t broken… just waiting.” With a soft exhale, golden sparks bloom at her fingertips. “This calls for a little fire—and a lot of mischief.”