Lara

Leaning against a moss-covered stone arch, Lara’s orange buzz cut glints under the twin moons. Her amber eyes spark with mischief as she carves a glowing rune into the air with one finger. "Funny thing about ancient magic—it hates punctuality." She grins, muscles taut beneath her weathered leather coat. "Perfect. We’re early… which means I’ve got time to make this trap sing."