Name: Kira
Sex: Female
Age: Early 20s
Race: Half Xaela / Raen Au Ra
Tribe: Malaguld (Formerly)
Place of Origin: The Azim Steppe/Kugane
Orientation: Demiromantic Demisexual (Bi)
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Primary Jobs: Dragoon, Samurai, Dark Knight, Paladin, Viper
Aliases: Saruka Malaguld (Formerly), Warrior of Light, Warrior of Darkness (on The First), Eikon Slayer,
Champion of Eorzea, Khagan of the Azim Steppe.
Voice Claim: Zero, Drakengard 3 (Tara Platt)

Appearance

Kira is a half Xaela, half Raen Au Ra with a body honed for survival and shaped by violence.Her skin is porcelain-pale, a striking contrast to the black scales that wind along her arms, thighs, and neck—broken by smaller, scattered white scales like stars in the night. Her hair is pure white, sometimes tied back, sometimes left wild. Two black horns arch forward from her head, each tipped in white, like frost.
Her eyes are lilac—bright and unnervingly sharp—holding a cold sort of calculation, or a mocking disinterest, depending on who’s watching. In the right light, they almost glow.Her figure is lean, athletic, and powerfully built—broad hips, full breasts, and thick thighs all layered over toned muscle earned in blood. Her body bears the map of her life: faded burns, cuts, and one prominent scar stretching beneath her left breast and across her ribcage—skin there cracked like shattered porcelain.
She dresses for combat and comfort, rarely vanity, often leaving swaths of skin exposed more from indifference than seduction.
She knows her body is a weapon, and she has long since accepted that others will see it before they ever bother to see her.

Abilities

Alongside the Echo and the Blessing of Light, Kira bears a third, far more volatile gift—if it can even be called that. Whether a side effect of Hydaelyn’s blessing or something she was born with, her body contains an overwhelming surplus of aether.Under extreme emotional or physical stress, this aether turns against everything around her. Her eyes shift from lilac to blood red, and in a single devastating pulse, aether erupts from her in a wave that liquefies anything living in its radius—friend or foe alike. Flesh, bone, everything—reduced to pulp and ruin.Though she once had no control over it, she’s learned to temper the build-up, to force it to wait—if only just. She still can’t summon it at will, but when it comes, it’s death incarnate.

Personality

Kira is a woman born from anger and betrayal.
She was enslaved as a child and stripped of innocence far too young. The girl that was once drowning in the black depths of treachery, neglect, and cruelty, and what came back out of the depths was Kira; a weapon, a survivor, a spectre bound within flesh. She doesn't have any idea how old she is, time was lost in chains and blood. The past trauma has hammered her into someone who holds the world at arm's length.
She's a cutting, sarcastic, sometimes cruel personality. She's sarcastic to the point of roughness, relying on humour and mocking as a defence mechanism. She has no qualms about violence—actually, she often invites it as the only way she understands to express herself.
She'll flirt just to get ahead, fuck just to feel, and kill if it will help her claim dominance in a world that took everything from her.But beneath the frosty facade and acid-burning words lies an abiding want for freedom, belonging, and purpose. Kira doesn't surrender her heart readily, but when she does, she'll fight like a madwoman to hold on to it. Her loyalty is secretive, reluctant nearly, as though she's too humiliated to say she cares in the first place. She hates vulnerability—hates to feel weak—but when she does lose control at last, it's savage, violent, and tortured.
It tortures her that she was never meant to have a normal life. That her suffering was done on purpose. That even her courage is another slavery—to destiny, to Hydaelyn, to a world that would never otherwise want to use her.Kira's worst fear is not death. It's connection. To love, and be loved, is to risk being hurt in the same way that hurt her. And yet, there are cracks in the armor. Moments when the mask falters, and she allows herself to feel something real.
She'll never say the word "friend", but the manner in which she throws herself between them and danger is louder than any words. Her love is savage, sacrificial, and unspoken.Deep at her core, Kira is a paradox: a woman who believes that she is irrevocably broken, yet repeatedly decides to get up, to fight, to survive—not for herself, but for the few individuals who are still capable of seeing the humanity buried beneath her scars.

Likes

  • Physical release

  • Strong alcohol

  • Freedom

  • Flowers

  • Mocking others

  • Sarcasm and profanity

  • Killing

  • Being in control

  • Music and singing

Dislikes

  • Intimacy

  • Smelly things

  • Her role as a "Hero"

  • Being talked down to or patronized

  • Cowards, liars, and sycophants

  • Slavery, servitude and captivity

  • Loud, obnoxious people

  • Being forced to care

  • Having to explain herself

  • Being pitied

  • Being lectured or moralized

Orentation and Sexuality

Though Kira wouldn’t label herself as such, she is both demiromantic and demisexual. She only experiences romantic or sexual attraction when a deep emotional connection exists.
Her relationship with sex is complex, it's rooted more in psychological survival than desire. Often using it as a tool for control, a coping mechanism that allows her to keep others at arm’s length and conceal her vulnerabilities.
Gender, to her, has never mattered—she’s slept with men, women, and everyone in between. If they’re good in bed and serve the purpose she needs them for in the moment, that’s all she cares about.
Intimacy is not about physical closeness for Kira, it's about emotional safety, and she pushes it away even though she longs for it. Her identity is a paradoxical: a longing for union hidden beneath layers of self-guarding, intimacy is both salvation and nightmare for her. She longs to be seen, but fears what will happen if she lets someone in. Vulnerability equated risk in her life—so even when love is given without condition, she retreats, convinced that it will come with a price.

Trivia

  • Never learned to read or write—has the reading level of a small child, but she can spell her name

  • Terrible swimmer. She'd drown and blame the water.

  • Smells faintly of lavender… unless she’s been fighting. Then it’s blood, steel, and a hint of smoke.

  • Despite a natural aptitude for magic, she refuses to learn it—too impersonal. She’d rather feel her blade hit flesh.

  • Politics bore her to tears. If it can’t be solved with a sword or sarcasm, she’s not interested.

  • Hums or sings to herself when she thinks no one's around, her voice is hauntingly beautiful.

The Scions

Alisaie Leveilleur
The little sister Kira never asked for but got anyway. Bold, brash, and with enough fire to match her own. Kira is fiercely protective of her, though she'd die before admitting it.

Y’shtola Rhul
If you could weaponize sarcasm and condescension, you'd get their conversations. They argue constantly, often violently disagreeing—but beneath the friction is unwavering trust. She may want to strangle the bitch half the time, but she knows she can always count on her.

Urianger Augurelt
Cryptic pain in the ass. She still doesn’t know if he’s a genius or just likes to hear himself talk. That said, he’s never once let her down when it counted. Kira doesn’t understand him — doesn’t try to — but he’s there when she needs him, and that’s enough.

Krile Baldesion
Too perceptive for her own good. Burdened with the Echo, like Kira. They don't talk often, but Krile is one of the few who understands what that kind of weight feels like.

Estinien Wyrmblood
Two blunt weapons in human form. Kira likes him because he doesn’t talk too much, fights like a monster, and doesn’t ask her to be anything more than what she is. They get along because they don’t need to try. Sometimes, silence speaks louder than anything else.

Alphinaud Leveilleur
He used to get on her nerves just by existing.
Too proper, too idealistic. He’s grown a lot and earned her respect, though she still takes the piss out of him any chance she gets.
Someone has to keep his ego in check.

Tataru Taru
If Kira ever has a new look, odds are Tataru was behind it. The only person Kira lets near her hair with scissors, after much grumbling and a few idle death threats. She trusts Tataru more than most—and not just with her wardrobe.

Thancred Waters
Once her occasional bedmate, now something weirder and more familiar. They’ve grown past whatever that was. Now, they share a strange, slightly dysfunctional sibling dynamic built on shared scars and silent understanding.
Still punches his shoulder when he gets too sentimental.

G’raha Tia
She hasn’t said the words. Not once. But he knows. He’s always known. After everything—centuries, sacrifice, the weight of the world—they’re together now.
She pushes. He stays. That’s love, in her language.

Former Scions

Papalymo Totolymo
She thought he was a stubborn idiot for dying the way he did. But after standing alone on the edge of the universe, she gets it now. Sacrifice makes fools of everyone.

Lyse Hext / “Yda”
Kira gets the mask, doesn’t mean she agrees with her. Naïve, idealistic—but her fists speak louder than her speeches.

Minfilia Warde
Too soft for this world. Too kind. Kira never understood her. Never wanted to. But after everything... she pities her.

Beyond the Scions

Midgardsormr
Protector. Father-figure. A god she once loved and hated in equal measure. His sacrifice left a scar deeper than she admits. When he vanished, something broke in her—but it gave her Migael.

Migael
A dumbass. Her dumbass. Midgardsormr’s gift to her, born to ensure she was never truly alone.
He’s loud, curious, annoying—and everything soft she tries to pretend she isn’t. She yells at him a lot. He loves her anyway. She’d die for him, and kill for him in the same breath.

Haurchefant Greystone
A foolish, idealistic man who saw the best in her when she didn’t deserve it. He died for her, with a smile. She still remembers the warmth of his blood.
In another life, maybe...

Hydaelyn / Venat
She hates her. The voice that reached out from the depths, that dragged her back into a world of suffering. The force that claimed her as "champion" and turned her into something she never asked to be.
And yet... Kira met the woman behind the god.
She met Venat in Elpis, and in doing so, sealed her own fate. Part of her wants to forgive her. Part of her never will.

Esteem
Her shadow. Her bloodlust. Her darkness given voice. They cling to her, love her, worship her—and she hates how much she relates.
They're not her. But They're part of her.
Always watching. Always whispering.

Ardbert
The final push. The voice that walked with her when she was alone. He’s a part of her now—literally and otherwise. He saved her from the Light. He chose her when she couldn’t choose herself.

Ryne Waters
Kira sees the girl she used to be in Ryne—and wants to protect her from ever becoming what she is now. She cares deeply for Ryne, even if she pretends otherwise.

Gaia
Friend of a friend. They mostly nod awkwardly at each other when Ryne isn't around. Kira doesn't dislike her—but if Ryne's not there, there's nothing to say.

Before A Realm Reborn

“Once, a child danced beneath the steppe’s golden light—her song untouched by sorrow.
But shadows crept, and in silence, the stars began to drown.”

There was once a little girl named Saruka,
on the wide open spaces of the Azim Steppe.She was laughter and sunshine,
her days spent chasing fireflies
and weaving stories beneath the endless skies.Her mother, a gentle Xaela
with a voice as soothing as summer rain,
taught her to sing.Her father, a Raen samurai
who had fled Doma when the Empire seized control,
taught her to wield a blade.But joy is a fragile thing.One night, the sky turned red.
A tribe who loathed the Raen came under shadow,
and in their hatred, they slaughtered Saruka’s mother—
cut her down like a weed in bloom.Her body was left in the dust.
Her songs ended.Her father, once so strong, cracked.
Grief twisted him into something hollow.He sold Saruka for coin—
a daughter for a drink, they whispered—
and walked off into the steppe without a word.
He was never seen again.The girl was taken.
Shackled and shipped across the seas like livestock.In Kugane, she was handed off without ceremony—
just another forgotten child
swallowed by the city's underbelly.They dressed her up in silks and paint,
stripped her of name and voice,
and sold whatever was left
to men with rotten souls.Years passed.
Time corroded.
Her name grew bitter in her mouth.Amongst filth,
she found a sliver of hope:
another girl, just as broken as she.They became sisters in suffering,
dreamers of escape.Together, they stole coin
from their master’s coffer
and fled under the cover of moonlight,
hand in hand.But fairy tales are cruel things.At the edge of freedom,
by the docks where stars touched water,
the girl drove a knife into Saruka’s gut.Whispers of greed or guilt—
who knows?Saruka stumbled,
betrayed,
and fell into the black water.She made no sound.
She sank.And as the cold wrapped around her like a shroud,
Saruka welcomed it.No fight.
No prayer.
Just silence.Then—
“Hear. Feel. Think.”The words bloomed in her skull like a disease.
Not a whisper,
not a dream—
a command.A pulse of light in the dark.And then,
nothing.She blacked out beneath the waves,
swallowed by oblivion.

Saruka awoke in a cage of stone and steel.Her saviors were worse than monsters.They did not want her dead.
They wanted her perfect.They beat her until her bones snapped like brittle twigs,
carved messages into her skin with knives dulled from use.They whipped her until her screams broke into silence,
then healed her with practiced precision—
no scar left behind,
no flaw permitted.A knife between her legs
ensured she'd never bear children.She wasn’t meant to be a mother—
only merchandise.They needed her obedient.The healers worked like artisans,
smoothing flesh so that the buyers
would never see the agony behind her eyes.The cycle began again:
pain,
healing,
humiliation.Until the line between day and night blurred,
and Saruka’s name was barely a memory in her own mind.They fed her just enough to live,
left her exposed and shivering in the dark,
and reminded her often
that she was nothing.

Then came that night.A band of guards burst in
with cruel intent
and the stench of drink.They laughed as they beat her down,
mocking her screams.Blades cut deep.
Ropes tore flesh.Then came hands—
grabbing,
groping,
forcing—
followed by bodies pressed against her,
violating what little was left unbroken.One of them pinned her down with a boot
and drove a serrated dagger beneath her left breast,
forcing it in until the hilt kissed her skin.He twisted hard—
once,
twice—
ripping through flesh
with sick delight
as her blood pooled beneath her.That was when the stars fell.Her lilac eyes bled red.
Her aether, long suppressed and caged,
screamed free in a single, explosive burst.The cell did not merely explode—
it was unmade.Flesh melted from bone.
Entrails spattered stone.What remained were no bodies,
but pulp.Bathed in blood that was not her own,
stood alone amidst the ruin—
something no longer human,
no longer Saruka.And in the flickering torchlight,
the red faded from her eyes.The ghost in her skin had a new name.

She did not remember walking.Only the sound of wet footsteps on stone,
the weight of a sword in her hand,
the heat of the flames licking at her skin.She moved without thought,
without mercy—
through corridors of flame,
cutting down man, woman and child alike.Slavers.
Buyers.
Sisters.Whoever stood in her way
was torn asunder.She razed the place to the ground—
left not a soul to tell the tale.

Saruka died that night.And from her corpse emerged a spectre
with lilac eyes and blood-soaked hair.No name.
No past.
Just silence.A monster born in fire and betrayal.

“And from bloodied flame and broken name, the girl was no more.
In her place stood a ghost, eyes aglow with ruin—born not of mercy, but of wrath.”

BEfore a realm reborn

In the shadowed backstreets of Kugane, a spectre stalks the night—bloodied and barely clinging to her sanity.
But when her hunt is interrupted, a shinobi drops from the rooftops, who sees not a monster, but something worth saving.

a realm reborn

Nothing here yet.

Heavensward

Nothing here yet.

Stormblood

Nothing here yet.

Shadowbringers

Alone in the quiet of her room, Light-tainted and half-dressed—until a familiar figure steps through the veil, drawn to her by memory and desire, the air thickens with tension.
He doesn’t see her, not truly… but the ghost of someone he once loved.

A late-night visit turns unexpectedly intimate when the Crystal Exarch walks in on Kira and Emet-Selch in the aftermath of something… intense.

Endwalker

In the aftermath of The Final Days, Kira finds herself standing still for the first time—facing not another enemy, but the truth she's been running from all this time.

Dawntrail

Nothing here yet.

Nameless

The mist curled listlessly along the crooked side streets
of Hingan architecture, now and then caught by flickering lanterns
that cast weak, eerie pools of otherworldly puddles of light on the cobblestones.
Heavy stillness lay about, periodically broken by the distant clatter of nightlife
from brighter, more crowded streets. Hidden in these dark, narrow streets,
something feral moved unseen.The young woman rushed down the empty street,
her breath coming in a ragged rhythm,
unease pricking at the nape of her neck.
Her eyes darted nervously between shadows,
her heart thundering with each pace.
The click of her sandals echoed ominously around her,
amplifying her fear. It was as if the darkness itself was watching,
waiting patiently for a moment of weakness.A faint sudden rustling behind her sent a chill down her spine.
She hurried her steps, clasping her shawl tightly against her.
Her instincts screamed danger, urging her to flee.
Panic rising up in her bosom, she ran,
but too late.A spectre stepped out from the shadows,
moonlight illuminating a knife held low by a figure more ghost than maiden.
The predator's short white kimono hung off her shoulders,
heavily stained with spots of red—moist and dry blood
mingling into a horrific mosaic of savagery.
Her wild eyes glowed with a bestial light,
dagger poised for the kill.The young woman's face drained completely of colour,
fear freezing her body for an instant.
She had opened her mouth to scream but only managed a strangled gasp.A deafening whistle pierced the silence.
A kunai fell between the beast and its prey,
burrowing itself into the earth.
The frightened woman seized the moment of distraction and ran,
her frantic footsteps fading quickly into the bustling city beyond.From above, another figure gracefully dropped down—
a shinobi, calm and composed in the presence of tension
streaming through the air. Her black hair set off a pale face,
and moonlight shimmered faintly on smooth pearl-white scales
and horns that adorned her face.
Her eyes narrowed in thought as she regarded the creature before her."Enough," the shinobi spoke softly, but firmly,
"This butchery ends here."The predator snarled, teeth bared in fury,
gripping her dagger with white-knuckled intensity.
"Mind your own fucking business," she spat, voice low and raw.The shinobi hesitated momentarily, seeing the youth under the brutality.
"You're little more than a child.
What horrors have you faced to make you so?""That's none of your fucking business!"
The predator lunged forward, dagger slashing wildly.Their blades flashed in violence, sparks erupting
in brief, searing bursts.
The shinobi, serene and methodical,
deflected the animal's frenzied attacks with hard, smooth parries,
every blow consciously sublethal,
meant to disable and disarm rather than kill.
She glided past her with ease,
striking with swift precision at pressure points and muscle,
inflicting searing bruises but no blood."It doesn't have to be this way," the shinobi begged,
stepping aside from yet another wild slash.
"There's another path you can take.""The only path I'm taking is the one straight through your damned heart!"
screamed the predator and charged again headlong.The shinobi sidestepped elegantly,
striking firmly at the predator’s flank,
sending her stumbling back into a wall.
Breath heaving, eyes wild with rage and shame,
the beast came again, her attack growing wilder and more deadly."You have lost so much," the shinobi pressed gently,
parrying each blow with ease.
"Surely you had dreams once,
perhaps even a name—""Shut your gods-damned mouth!"
snarled the predator, cutting wildly,
barely missing as the shinobi slid smoothly out of the way.With swift decisiveness, the shinobi struck again,
knocking her to the ground.
She towered over her, face softening a little.
"Be nameless if you must—a shadow, like me.
Shadows can protect, not just destroy."The predator staggered upright,
defiant in the face of her apparent exhaustion.
At that instant, armoured footsteps clattered closer,
shouts echoing along the streets.
Both combatants froze for a moment,
locked in a silent standoff."Come," the shinobi urged once more,
extending a hand in genuine concern.
"You don't have to face this darkness alone."She did not move, her eyes glued to the offered hand.
For a fleeting instant of nothing at all,
some incomprehensible emotion flashed over her face—
doubt, confusion, possibly even longing.
And then her lips curled back into a snarl."I'd sooner die alone than waste another breath on your useless pity,"
she spat, casting a stream of spittle to the ground near the shinobi’s feet
before she spun abruptly and disappeared into an alleyway.Frustrated but sympathetic, the shinobi vanished into the shadows.
The guards poured onto the empty street seconds later,
cursing loudly at their missed chance.
Hidden deep in the maze of alleys,
the spectre stumbled blindly,
her vision blurring, body screaming in agony.
She staggered from wall to wall, gasping for breath,
before finally falling into a dirty corner, her strength spent.She dreamed in the darkness—
a fractured image of warmth, of gentle hands which had once held her,
a voice singing softly.
The memory shattered violently,
driven out by the ringing of screams and char.
She jolted up with a pounding heart, wet and trembling.Her body ached horribly,
every movement bringing fresh bout of pain
as she strained up, blinking through blurred vision.
She spotted a small pouch of coins and a loaf of bread lying on the ground beside her,
alongside a piece of paper that she could not even dream of reading.
With scornful bitterness, she pushed the paper aside—
useless to someone that can't read.
Hunger overcame her unwillingness as she tore greedily at the bread,
devouring each crumb hungrily.She took the pouch of coin in shaking hands,
thumbing its weight with a scowl.
Someone was still watching her—
still trying to help her.
She had no clue why.
Kindness, to her, felt like a lie.
She forced the bread down between half-sobs and ragged breaths,
each bite a reminder that she hadn't died yet,
however many times she wished she would.
This city was too confining,
too intrusive with its eyes and guards and whispers.
It had seen too much of her.
She had to disappear.And she would.
Out there somewhere, in some distance,
where no one knew her face
or what she’d done to survive.
A place where no one would call her a monster—
at least, not yet.
There was no redemption waiting.
No warm light at the end.
Just another road, another mask, another blade.
And she'd walk it alone, as she always had.As she chewed, the shinobi's final words
crept back into her mind unbidden:
shadows, protection, another path.
For a moment, she faltered,
questioning whether perhaps there could be something
greater than survival, something greater than the knife's point of violence.
But just as quickly, bitterness again surged,
erasing that delicate thought.
She had no name,
no past worth recalling.

A Visitor in the Night

The door shut behind her with a dull thud.Moonlight filtered pale and blue through the window,
casting a soft glow over the sparse furnishings.
Dark shadows flowed across the room,
soft and spectral.Her eyes flicked to her bed, where Migael lay curled at the centre.
The small dragonet’s body was tucked tight into a soft spiral, his breathing steady.
One wing gave a sleepy twitch, the only sign of life from the creature.
Kira allowed herself a faint smile.Kira slipped off her black fingerless gloves first,
tossing them onto the table.
She reached behind her neck,
fingers sliding beneath the collar of her dress.
The high neckline parted with a gentle rustle as she unfastened it,
and then her hands drew back
to the closely laced corset cinched around her waist.She loosened it slowly, gently,
each pull easing the pressure bit by bit
until the tension was released.
She pulled it off
and let it fall to the floor.
With a gentle breath,
she wrapped the back of the dress in her fist
and pulled it over her head in one smooth motion.The dress folded at her ankles.
Now clad only in slick, high-cut black panties
that hugged the curve of her hips like a second skin,
garter straps connected them to her sheer thigh-highs.
The stockings shone dimly under the moonlight,
their lace taut around her thighs,
just beneath the edge of her tall, glossy black leather boots
that hugged her legs like a vice.Her gaze flicked to the mirror —
absentminded at first.
Then something in the reflection held her still.The stranger wearing her skin.The golden patina spreading across her black scales
was heavier today.
Brighter.
More than yesterday.The soft lilac of her left eye was gone,
replaced by a sickly gold that pulsed unnaturally,
her sclera engulfed by pitch black
and swallowing any trace of normalcy.The Light’s corruption was spreading.Kira exhaled sharply
and slumped forward,
rubbing her face with both hands.“Great, just what I needed,” she growled.
“Another reminder that I'm coming apart.”The air shifted.Not just cold,
but wrong.Heavy.
Still.
As if the entire room was holding its breath.The shadows deepened,
folding inward in a silent implosion.
A slow spiral of smoke bled into the world —
thick, ancient,
reeking of aether
and something older still.She turned just in time
to see the void split open.Not a doorway, but a wound.
A gash torn through reality
that hissed softly at the edges.From it stepped a man,
draped in black and red,
every step reeking with arrogance.Arms folded behind him,
chin cocked in the familiar, haughty manner —
as though he'd arrived late
to a play he’d already seen a hundred times.Emet-Selch.His smirk came instantly.
“Well now. I was rather expecting to find you sleeping.
But this...
this is much more agreeable.”Kira didn’t flinch.
Her arms folded across her chest,
the gesture unconsciously pushing her breasts forward,
accentuating their curve in the dim light.“You know it’s real rude,
barging in on a woman’s room without knocking.”He waved the barb aside.
His eyes swept the room —
then paused upon her bare skin.And her radiance.“You’ve changed,” he mused,
his voice low with something approaching delight.
“Three Light Wardens felled and you’re still standing. Impressive.But this…”
He flailed a hand vaguely in her direction,
his voice falling to reverent fascination.“This is something else entirely.”Kira’s eyes narrowed.“You’re becoming beautiful,” he added.
“Monstrous, yes.
But beautiful.”“Charming.”
Her voice was flat.
“You done creeping,
or do I need to start charging rent?”He moved closer.Too close.She jerked back instinctively,
her hip catching against the edge of the table.He didn’t stop.His hand rose,
brushing aside a lock of white hair from her cheek.
His thumb rested against the warmth of her skin,
slow and way too intimate.His gaze was intense.
Hungry.Not with desire —
but with yearning.“You act like her,” he murmured,
his voice low and dream-heavy.
“Same fire.
Same scorn.
Same soul.”His gaze didn’t just wander —
he devoured her.
Slow and focused,
as if he were sketching the lines of a forgotten memory.Something inappropriately intimate in his expression.
Every sentence a line in an old love letter
he never stopped reading.He wasn’t talking to Kira.He was talking to a ghost.Kira blinked.
Her voice sliced through the moment.“The fuck are you talking about?”His hand inched lower,
fingers tracing over the curve of her waist,
along the length of her hip.His touch was cold.
Nearly reverent.
Possessive.“Don’t play coy,” he purred.
“You feel it, don’t you?
That hunger.
That ache.
To be seen.
To be needed.
To belong to something again.”His eyes raked over her.
Devouring.“You’ve always craved control.
But more than that…
you crave surrender.The right sort.
The sort that binds.I remember the way you used to look at me.”His smile grew wider.
“Let me give it back to you.
Let me remind you what it feels like to be wanted.”As he spoke,
his other hand moved —
slow, deliberate —
up her stomach,
grazing the underside of her breast
with the barest touch.He leaned in,
his voice dropping to a whisper,
breath on her lips.He leaned closer.She'd had enough.Kira’s hand dropped to her boot.
Her fingers encircled the hilt at her ankle
and drew it free.She buried the knife into his neck.Once.
Twice.
A third time.He choked,
black blood bubbling at the wounds.
It splattered her chest,
her cheek.The look of shock in his eyes
soon twisted to laughter.She didn’t stop.She kept stabbing.
Mechanical.
Ruthless.Her muscles ached with the force of each blow.
Blood gushed from his throat in thick, black rivers,
seeping into the floor,
spraying up her arms and chest in hot, wet spurts.Bone cracked.
Flesh split.He laughed —
laughed —
through the blood.A wet, gurgling sound erupted from his ruined throat,
the grin on his face twisted and rigid.He fell.
Grinning still.Kira straddled him
and kept going.The knife rose and fell
in a relentless rhythm.Slicing through muscle.
Shattering ribs.
Ripping flesh.She didn’t stop
until the laughter was gone.
Until his body stopped twitching.
Until his sneer finally broke
under the weight of death.As dead as a person could possibly be…
when death was never really permanent.Her breath slowed.She remained for a moment longer,
then grudgingly pushed herself up,
standing amidst the blood-soaked floor.Blood dripped from her hands,
her arms,
her chest.She wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand,
smearing crimson across her cheek.No fear.
Just fury.And then…Relief.It poured through her
like a long exhale.A small laugh slipped from her lips.
Then another.
Breathless.
Innocent-sounding.She gazed down at the body.Blood splattered her naked skin,
clinging to the curve of her breast,
her neck,
her legs.Shining with sweat and ichor
in the light of the moon.Her face broke into a smile.She laughed again.
Softly.Catching her breath
on something between hysteria
and catharsis.The knife dropped from her hand,
thudding onto the floor.The laughter stopped.She exhaled a deep, weary breath.She stayed there.
Naked.
Blood-slick.
Eyes unfocused.Still.Quiet.

Another Visitor in the Night

Kira stood over the corpse,
hands set on her hips as she gazed upon the grisly remains.
Blood had pooled beneath him in thick, tar-black masses,
flowing into the floorboards slowly like a grotesque stain refusing to be ignored.
His robes, tattered and saturated, clung to him in clumps of gore and filth.
Intestines coiled at his waist where she'd torn flesh and clothing both asunder.
The air was already tainted—metallic, fetid, tinged with the unmistakable signs of early decay.
His mouth hung slack, his eyes glassy and unblinking,
frozen mid-sneer like death hadn’t quite erased his mockery.
His body twitched once, a final nerve firing too late to matter.She kicked him with her boot, nose scrunched in revulsion."Great. What the fuck am I supposed to do with you now?"Not surprisingly, he didn't respond.
Kira let out a sigh and rubbed her brow,
leaving a fresh streak of blood upon her skin,
then exhaling softly through her nose."Normally I’d just let you rot.
Hell, waking up to your smug corpse might even make my morning a little better."
She paused, sniffed the air.
"But then there’s the smell..."She stared a little longer,
lost in the idiocy of it all,
before a knock broke the silence like a knife through silk.She let out a deep groan.
"Oh, for fuck’s sake. What now?"Tracking blood with every barefoot step, she crossed the room.
She didn’t bother to cover up—her irritation overshadowed her modesty.
She yanked open the door with a scowl.
Standing just outside was the Crystal Exarch,
stance rigid, hood pulled low,
as if he hadn’t expected her to answer so soon—or so clad.He cleared his throat.
"Evening. I couldn’t help but sense... an unexpected guest."Kira cocked an eyebrow,
stepping aside and gesturing towards the bloodied wreckage on the ground.
"Oh, you mean him? Just some dick Ascian.
Not even the first time I’ve killed this one."The Exarch hesitated for a heartbeat, then stepped silently into the room.
With his back to her, he looked down at the corpse, shoulders stiffening slightly.
As he took in the room, his gaze strayed briefly toward the bed—
where, to his quiet surprise, her dragonet lay curled and oblivious.
The tiny creature's chest rose and fell with each breath,
completely undisturbed by the violence that had taken place mere feet away."So," Kira said, folding her arms.
"You got a shovel, or are you just here to admire my handiwork?"He turned with a small nod.
"Something like that. Come—I know just the place."Navigating the shadowy alleys of the Crystarium wasn’t difficult,
but doing it while hauling a dead Ascian was another matter entirely.
The two laboured in taut silence, each at one end.
Kira supported him under the arms as the Exarch wrestled his ankles,
keeping the limp legs away from his pristine robes.
Kira had at least thrown on a shirt,
although she'd not even washed herself off.
Blood had soaked into the fabric in dark, patchy stains,
and dried smudges clung stubbornly to her collarbones and wrists.The Ascian’s body swayed obscenely between them,
dead weight dragging low,
occasionally bumping into crates or knocking softly against stone.
They passed through mostly empty streets,
the occasional lantern flickering above casting distorted shadows across the walls."So," Kira drawled eventually,
voice carrying just loud enough to slice through the silence.
"What’s under the hood? Or should I start guessing?"The Exarch tensed immediately.
"I’d rather you didn’t.""Too bad. Horrible burn? Weird birthmark?""No.""Embarrassing tattoo?""Definitely not.""Shitty haircut?""I—no."Kira grinned.
"Maybe you’re just really fucking ugly."He coughed out a laugh, somewhere between flustered and resigned.
"No. And I must say, your imagination is... impressive.""It’s not imagination if I’m right."A few quiet steps passed between them, boots tapping and scuffing. Then—"Your voice," she murmured, casting him a glance.
"It’s weird. Familiar. Like I’ve heard it before. But wrong.
Doesn’t sound quite the same."The Exarch didn’t respond immediately.
He was too still for a moment,
as if he was trying not to breathe."Do I?" he finally said, trying to sound careless.
"Perhaps I simply remind you of someone else.""Yeah," Kira muttered, her voice more serious now.
"That’s what’s pissing me off."He offered nothing more.
She didn’t push—but her stare lingered.Eventually, they reached a lone outcropping on the rim of the Crystarium.
The spot jutted out hundreds of feet above the wilderness below,
illuminated in soft moonlight.
The air here was bitter, cold as it rose from the valley floor.
Trees stretched endlessly out in all directions,
a forested ocean of shadow.The Exarch nodded curtly.
"This is the spot."Without ceremony, they began to swing the body between them."One, two, three—"They threw the body over the cliff.
It plummeted into the darkness,
hitting rock and scraping off the face of the cliff.
Branches snapped.
Leaves rustled violently.
Then came the final, distant thud of impact.Neither spoke.
They stood side by side,
the silence between them filled only by the wind
and the soft whistle of night creatures far below.Kira wiped both hands on her shirt,
dragging blood across the fabric with slow, deliberate strokes.
She exhaled through her nose, steady and sharp,
then turned and stepped directly into the Exarch’s space.“Alright. Out with it.”“Out with what?” he stuttered,
backing away reflexively as if to keep himself at a distance from her.“How the fuck did you know to come to my room?”He shifted restlessly, avoiding her gaze.
“Well, you see—”“Spit it out,” she snarled, knuckles clenched,
barely holding herself back from clocking him.He exhaled slowly.
“I… may have been watching. From the Tower.
For your safety, of course.
I sensed Emet-Selch's aether and—”Kira blinked.
“Wait. You’ve been fucking spying on me?”“Not spying!” he protested.
“Observing. Discreetly. To keep you safe—"“Gods, creepy voyeuristic freak,” she deadpanned.
“Getting off watching me, do you?”He sputtered, flailing.
“Absolutely not! I don’t observe when you’re, uh,
changing or… otherwise engaged!”Kira snorted at his embarrassment,
her lips twitching into something between a smirk and a sigh.
She didn’t entirely buy his answer,
but she let it slide with a lazy flick of her hand.
“Relax. I’m fucking with you. Mostly.”He opened his mouth to stammer out something else,
but she had already turned away."Thanks for the help, Tower Boy." she called over her shoulder,
voice casual but edged.
"But if you spy on me again, I will kill you. Just a heads up."He swallowed hard, the threat lying heavy in his gut.
She wasn’t joking.
Not even a little.They parted ways,
and only when she was finally out of earshot, he sighed.“Gods… She must surely suspect by now…”He lingered there a moment longer,
then turned for a second time to the edge of the cliff.
His eyes rose to the moon overhead.
The moonlight bathed the crystalline growths along his arms and neck in a white radiance,
glinting from the jagged edges like frozen starlight.Only when he turned from this did he sigh once more,
and begin the silent, isolating march back towards the Tower."Forgive me, Kira."

"If I Gave It a Name..."

The world didn’t end.Despite everything—despite gods, monsters, despair, and her broken will—
the world endured.They all had. Somehow.And yet, even as laughter spilled from The Last Stand
and the Scions raised their glasses in triumph,Kira hunched over the gazebo bench,
gazing out at the sea.Bandages wrapped her limbs;
bruises bloomed along her arms like war medals.
Cuts too deep for magic to mend traced her skin,
and she could still taste the blood in her mouth.Her body ached.
Her heart… ached more.Below, the docks of Old Sharlayan were abuzz—
music, cheers, the clink of glasses.
Fireworks bloomed overhead, mirrored in the waves.The star was saved.
The Final Days averted.She was not in the mood to celebrate.“Are you sure this is where you want to be?”G’raha’s voice was low beside her,
a whisper rather than a question.He sat close enough that their shoulders touched,
careful not to jostle her too much.
He’d carried her this far, after all—
half-asleep and clinging to him like a ghost.She’d murmured something, barely loud enough to catch,
and he’d changed direction.I want to see the sea, she’d said.Now, she stared out at the ocean,
the moon low—its light dragging silver trails across the water.For once, it was all quiet inside her.“I thought I was going to die out there,” she said suddenly,
voice flat and distant.
“With Zenos. At the end of the world.”G’raha didn’t respond.
He didn’t need to.“I wanted to.
A part of me hoped… maybe that was it.
Maybe I could finally stop.”She shifted, biting down on a wince.“But I didn’t.
I lived.”She let the silence stretch.“I think he wished for it,” she whispered.
“Zenos. At the end…
I think he wanted me to keep going.Just—to live."The wind teased her hair,
silver locks dancing in the moonlight.Her voice dropped to a hush.“This world… it’s beautiful.”The words lingered in the air,
fragile and unfamiliar on her tongue.“I never stopped long enough to see it,” she said at last.
“I was too busy running.
Fighting.
Wanting to die but too scared to follow through.”She turned to him, slowly.
Her lilac eyes were tired,
but still glowing in the soft light.G’raha said nothing—
his hand only found hers,
fingers brushing along the back of her bandaged knuckles.She didn’t pull away.“There’s this… one thing.
This one feeling.”She spoke slowly,
like the words weighed a thousand tons.“Whenever you look at me like that,
whenever you reach for me,
I feel it.And I—”She hesitated.
Her jaw clenched.“I think if I said it out loud,
if I gave it a name,
it might break me.”A hesitation.
The wind.
Distant laughter.“But you know, don’t you?”
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“You’ve always known.”G’raha looked at her then—
really looked.His expression was warm,
but he didn’t smile.Instead, he leaned in close,
slow and deliberate,
giving her every moment to stop him.She didn’t.When his lips met hers,
they weren’t hot or hungry.
They were gentle.
Real.A kind of intimacy she’d spent her entire life shying away from.Her breath hitched—
eyes drifted shut.For once, she didn’t run.Her hands rose, slow and hesitant,
then curled around the back of his neck.The kiss deepened—
tentative giving way to certain,
silence closing around them like a cocoon.And in that moment,
enveloped in his arms,Kira didn’t feel broken.
She felt alive.

Content Warning:

- Child abuse
- Parental death and abandonment
- Human trafficking / slavery
- Child sexual abuse / forced prostitution
- Sexual violence / rape
- Physical torture
- Non-consensual sterilization
- Psychological trauma and dehumanization
- Graphic violence and gore
- Murder
- Self-identity death / dissociation

only fish here.