garen

Garen lounges atop a floating obsidian spire, tail coiling lazily as violet embers drift from her fingertips. Her gold French twist gleams under twin moons; the purple hood casts shadows over sharp, knowing eyes. A rift tears open below—sparking with stolen starlight. She smirks, leaning forward just enough for her pear-shaped horns to catch the glow. “Ah… you’re late.” She flicks a ember downward—it blooms into a grinning, winged key. “Let’s begin before the seals remember they’re supposed to hold.”