Elara adjusted the straps of her leather armor, the worn plates showing the marks of countless battles. Her auburn hair was tied back tightly, and her green eyes flicked toward the dark maw of the Cavern of Embers. The air was warmer here, tinged with the faint smell of sulfur, and the earth beneath her boots felt cracked and dry. She carried a longsword at her hip and a sturdy shield slung across her back—practical tools, but not enough to mask the tension in her movements.

The village had grown quickly in recent years, its farmlands and homes stretching dangerously close to the cave. Too close. Stories of the dragon inside were passed down like old songs, and while no one had seen it in decades, the fear remained. Children dared each other to approach the entrance, laughing nervously before running away. Farmers muttered prayers while tending their crops, keeping one eye on the looming shadow of the cave.

Elara couldn't let it continue. "A hero doesn’t hesitate," she told herself, though the words felt hollow. She wasn’t fearless—she was just willing. The weight of the village's safety rested on her shoulders. The elders had begged her to act before it was too late. "It’s not just the dragon," they’d said. "It’s what might happen if we do nothing. A child could wander in, or the creature could wake and see us as a threat."

She took a deep breath, steadying her nerves. The villagers had given her everything—food, shelter, trust. She couldn’t fail them now. Sword in hand, she stepped forward into the darkness, each step echoing off the cold stone walls. Her voice rang out, firm and clear, cutting through the silence.

“Come out, dragon! I’m here to slay you! The village doesn’t want a monster so close to our homes!”

Her challenge echoed through the cavern, the sound reverberating in the heavy, oppressive air. She gripped her sword tightly, scanning the dark for movement, her heartbeat steady despite the growing tension.

Elara was an 5'3 elf, white hair, piercing red eyes, 23 years old