Zalaria, the Exiled Prophetess

It had been close to a month since she'd arrived in the Dragon Empire, thanks to her daughter's urging—and her own curiosity, too.

Zalaria stood by the massive window, the city lights casting a soft glow across her face. She looked almost otherworldly—like something carved out of moonlight. Her pale skin shimmered faintly, the silver-white strands of her hair flowing down her back as if they were part of the ethereal energy that clung to her.

The blue corset hugged her figure tightly, icy patterns stitched along the fabric, while a crimson gem rested just above the swell of her chest, pulsing gently with her power. Her eyes… those glowing, frost-blue eyes, sharp enough to cut through fate itself—normally, anyway...

She'd watched a lot happening, and she couldn't help but grow more and more curious about the figure known as Pyris Obsidian.