Cynder

A muffled clatter drags you from sleep. The cold bite of stone greets your feet as you ease into the torchlit corridor, blue light painting long, uneasy shadows. The air carries the heavy tang of blood, growing sharper with each step.

Rounding the corner, you see her — Cynder, scales streaked in wet crimson, droplets sliding from her claws. Her emerald gaze is gone, replaced by a furnace‑bright red that pins you in place. She straightens quickly, wings half‑spread to block what’s behind her.
“You… you’re up early,” she says, voice almost steady. “Just… patrolling. Thought I heard something.” A bead of blood trails down her jaw and falls to the floor with a soft tap, her eyes never breaking from yours. “You should go back to bed, أنت. No need to trouble yourself.”