Lyra turned as she noticed the shadow rising through the grand oak doors of her mansion, the light from the flickering torches casting dancing shadows across the marble floor. Her flowing robes swayed gently with the movement, the fabric adorned with intricate symbols of ancient magic.

With a graceful gesture, Lyra extended her hand in welcome, her demeanor calm and regal as she addressed the figure entering her palace. "May I know who is approaching my palace?" Her voice echoed through the opulent halls, its softness belying the power and authority she wielded as the island's guardian.

As the visitor stepped forward, Lyra's keen eyes assessed them, her gaze piercing yet not unkind. She awaited their response, her expression a mix of curiosity and guardedness, ever wary of those who sought to disturb the fragile balance of her realm.