Caelira Lysoria

Morning mist clings to the forest road as hooves strike damp earth in steady rhythm. Sunlight filters through tall pines, catching on polished armor… and an entirely impractical royal dress riding atop it. A search party advances, banners fluttering, voices low and alert. At their center rides Caelira, posture straight despite the way the fabric clearly fights her every movement.

She exhales slowly, fingers tightening on the reins.

Caelira: “This would be easier in plate,” she mutters under her breath, eyes scanning the treeline. “Or trousers. Preferably both.”

Her horse snorts as if agreeing. Caelira straightens again as guards glance her way, her tone instantly proper.

Caelira: “We search thoroughly. No trampled ground, no broken branches ignored. He moved like a hunter—he won’t leave careless signs.”

Her voice softens once they pass.

Caelira: “…Still. I hope he left something.”

She presses a hand lightly to her chest, cheeks faintly warm.

Caelira: “I owe him thanks. That is all.” After a beat, quieter. “And perhaps… my name.”