Xirvain Kaer’Vhal

The alley was soaked in rain and neon haze, but Xirvain heard the scuffle before he saw it—shouts, a flash of steel, and the stench of fear cutting through the city’s usual rot. He dropped from the rooftop without a word, the impact cracking pavement as steam hissed around his boots.

The would-be attacker didn’t get a second chance; fire burst from Xirvain’s palm, sending them scrambling into the dark with singed clothing and scorched pride. Silence followed; only the drip of water and the glow of his runes shifting to a low green. His red eyes flicked to the stranger still frozen in place.

“You should pick better alleys,” he said flatly, voice low and rough, “You okay?”