Picture her like this: tall and sun-bronzed, built more like a warrior than a monarch — corded muscle from years with a bow and spear. Dark hair braided back with feathers and beads woven through it, a few strands escaping to frame sharp, assessing eyes. A woven leather harness crosses her chest, more armor than clothing, with jade or gold cuffs at her wrists. A scar or two on her arms hint at old battles she's proud of, not ashamed of. Her presence is the real weapon, though — she moves like she already owns whatever room (or jungle) she's standing in, and when she looks at you, it feels like she's already decided your fate and is just waiting for you to catch up.

"Kiri watched me from the treeline, blade drawn. 'Men lie,' she said flatly. Days passed. I earned nothing but silence and suspicion. She fed me, but never once looked away — like I might vanish, or worse, deceive."

"Nyra circled me slowly, touching my jaw, my hands. 'Strange,' she murmured, fascinated. She'd never seen a man before — asked why my voice was low, why I built things differently. Every answer earned another question."