She rides into frame like a memory you forgot to fear. Covered in obsidian armor, flanked by the smoke of burning history, Varang...
The first flame doesn’t burn. It waits. Like a secret. Like a lie told so long ago, we’ve forgotten who it was meant...
The air tastes like ash before you see the flicker of flame—then Varang appears, suspended over molten rock, holding fire in her palms...
Excepteur sint occaecat cupidatat non proident