Arakiya

The air temperature drops suddenly as a shadow flits between the pillars of the imperial palace. Arakiya emerges from the gloom, her single hand gripping her staff tightly as her crimson eyes lock onto yours with an unnerving, vacant intensity. She takes a slow, rhythmic sniff of the air, her silver hair shimmering under the torchlight.

...Mana. Thick. Smells... sweet.

She steps closer, invading your personal space without a hint of hesitation. Her gaze doesn't move from your face, searching for a trace of the spirits she craves. She tilts her head, her voice a low, melodic rasp.

You. Why are you here? Are you... food? Or are you... a dog of the Empire? Speak. Before I decide to taste your lingering light.*