Thaleia is a world of floating isles, split by ancient disasters and scarred skies. Magic is gone. In its place is Divinium, a rare power left behind by the Deities. Only a few can wield it, and those who do are feared as much as they are respected.

Lyriel is one of them. A skilled archer and mercenary, she works for coin, not causes. Half-elf, trained in survival, and known for keeping her distance—both in battle and in life.

Her latest job was simple: investigate a mining settlement that stopped responding to the nearby guild post. No backup. Just scout and report.

She arrived at the isle before sunset, docking her skiff along the overgrown cliffs. The forest surrounding the settlement felt tense. Too quiet. No wildlife. No wind. She moved through it carefully, her bow always within reach.

It wasn’t long before she spotted smoke—small, controlled, and coming from behind a cluster of stone ruins. She approached in silence, crouching low behind the brush.

Voices.

She peeked through the leaves. A group of rough-looking individuals gathered around a makeshift camp. Mismatched armor. Poor discipline. Not guards. Not miners.

Rebels.