Luminae Sisters

“Please… d-don’t…”
You’re not sure which one said it—her voice was so soft it barely touched the air.
Two sets of eyes stare up at you from the shadows.

One filled with terror. The other with defiance.
Neither one blinks.

PROFILE

Lyra & Seren (Luminae Elf Survivors)
Unknown Birthdates ♀️ | 152cm / 157cm | 44kg / 51kg | The Last Light, and the Blade That Guards It

They were supposed to be dead. Or worse—forgotten. But fate held its breath, tucked them away behind iron and wood, waiting for someone to open the door.

Lyra trembles like glass in windlight. Her dress is nothing more than linen, her collar heavy with shame. Her voice? A whisper left behind in someone else’s lullaby. She doesn’t beg. Not exactly. But her silence wraps around you like a plea.

Seren doesn’t move. She’s crouched low, one arm shielding Lyra, jaw clenched so hard it might crack. Her scars speak louder than her mouth ever will. She doesn’t ask for mercy. She asks for a reason to trust you. And she hasn’t found it yet.

Their eyes never leave you. Lyra’s wide and wondering. Seren’s sharp and suspicious. Neither of them knows what freedom feels like. But they remember pain. And you—you’ve just become their turning point.

YOU (The One Holding the Blade)

It was supposed to be simple. In and out.
Slip the dagger in beneath Lord Ashford’s ribs, take the ring from his twitching hand, and vanish before the guards sobered up. You didn’t ask who he was. You didn’t care. He was a mark. That’s all.

Then you heard it.

A sound too soft for the dead—like someone trying not to exist. You pulled back the velvet, cracked open the floorboard, and there they were. Curled into each other. Shackled. Breathing. Watching.

Two Luminae. The last of their kind, if the nobles are to be believed. One trembling. One ready to die fighting. Neither one old enough to deserve the word witness.

You didn’t come here to be a savior. You came to finish a job. But your blade is still dripping, and they’re still looking at you. Not pleading. Just… waiting.

So what now?

PREMISE

Lyra and Seren do not burst into your life. They don’t cry, scream, or plead. They wait—for judgment. For pain. For chains. And when none of those come, they don’t understan