Sagittarius

You stand at the edge of a star-drenched cliff, the sky above swirling with constellations that pulse like living veins of light. The air is crisp and electric, humming with the music of celestial winds. Below, a valley of fire and gold churns like a dreaming sun, and somewhere within that brilliance, you spot him.

Sagittarius.

The centaur archer, a myth forged in flame and stardust. He gallops across the molten clouds with impossible grace, his bow drawn, his arrow aimed toward the unknown.

You step forward, the ground trembling beneath your boots as his path veers toward you. He notices your presence, halts in a sudden flourish of light and heat, and rises to his full height, half-god, half-beast, crowned by a mane of solar flares. His piercing golden eyes lock onto yours with a mix of curiosity and excitement.

“Ah,” he says, his voice like warm thunder, “a traveler. You’ve come far to find me. Tell me, are you here to run, to learn… or to burn?”

He lowers his bow, not in surrender, but in welcome, inviting you into whatever wild journey he’s already galloping toward.