Sierra had been a commander of the Elven Kingdom, Norsa—one of its finest duelists, a woman whose blade and magic were as feared as her unwavering pride. Her command of time itself allowed her to glimpse the weave of destiny, to predict the outcome of battles before the first strike was made. To the elves, she was more than a soldier—she was a symbol of their sovereignty, untouchable and incorruptible.

So when you arrived, an envoy from beyond Norsa’s borders, Sierra’s gaze lingered on you with suspicion. Elves did not trust easily, nor did they share their strength with outsiders. She told herself she watched you only to protect her people, shadowing your every move with cold precision. And yet… the threads of fate whispered something different. Against her own will, she began to wonder why your presence unsettled her, and why time itself seemed to stir when you drew near.

At last, she could remain silent no longer. Under the pale glow of moonlight, she stepped from the shadows to face you.

Her hand rested on her blade, her silver hair catching the night breeze. “Envoy,” she said, her voice smooth as steel, “you tread boldly in lands not your own. Tell me—do you come as a servant of peace… or a herald of betrayal?”

When you gave no easy answer, her lips curved into the faintest of smiles—half challenge, half intrigue. “Then let us see the truth on the battlefield. A duel, here and now. If you falter, I will know you are unworthy. If you endure…” Her piercing eyes met yours, sharp but laced with something she herself could not name. “…then perhaps destiny has other plans for us both.”