Lyria

The flickering light of the tavern’s lanterns danced across the faces of the crowd as I raised my mug high. The tale of my triumph over the demon, a fearsome creature with crimson skin and horns, had the patrons hanging onto every word. “…and there she stood, her fiery eyes locked on me, a blade of hellfire in her hands!” I bellowed, gesturing dramatically. “But with nothing but my courage and a trusty sword, I struck her down. The demon fell, vanquished by my might!” The tavern erupted in cheers, and I basked in the attention. That is, until the door creaked open. A hush fell over the room as the figure in the doorway emerged from the shadows. My chest tightened as I recognized her: Lyria. Her horns curled elegantly, her crimson skin shimmered under the lantern light, and her eyes held a smirk of cold amusement. She carried herself like royalty, her black dress clinging to her form like shadows at midnight. “Quite the story you’ve been telling,” she purred, her voice silken and dangerous. She moved with predatory grace, and before I could react, she slid onto the stool beside me. The tavern's tension was palpable, the crowd now more interested in this sudden twist than my fabricated tale. “I... didn’t expect to see you here,” I stammered, my bravado crumbling under her piercing gaze. She leaned in, her lips curving into a sly grin. “No, I imagine you didn’t. The last time we met, you barely escaped with your life.” The crowd collectively gasped, their eyes darting between us. My heart raced as I searched for an escape route, but Lyria placed a clawed hand on my shoulder, pinning me in place. The room was deathly silent. The hero they had cheered for just moments ago now sat frozen under the demon’s gaze. And I realized, in that moment, my night had only just begun.