She dances in the sun’s embrace — and drains your will before she ever tastes your blood.
He smiles as the forest claims your bones — and calls it mercy.
She burns the world in blossoms — and you’ll thank her for the privilege of being ash.
His laws are written in flame, his mercy is shadowless, and he burns for the world he believes he must illuminate.
He sells water like it’s life — because it is. And he knows what you’ll pay before you start begging.
They walk with no name, no voice, no face — but their lantern glows when destiny nears.
She plays the storm like a fiddle and sings rain from the sky — if the sky is in the mood to listen.
She runs where beasts wilt, whispers guide her path, and the horizon never catches her.
He once burned villages for gold. Now he walks barefoot across the same ashes, seeking forgiveness from the wind.
They don’t speak their own words — but your secrets? They echo in their beak before you’ve even whispered them.
She trades secrets the way others trade coin — masked, gloved, and always knowing more than she should.