Seris, her skin a living cascade of swirling paint—vivid blues, fiery reds, and sunlit yellows—gazes at the empty world with ancient eyes. Feathery wings, each feather stained with shifting color, unfurl behind her, while two slender, spiraled horns arc above her brow. Dragon blood, deep crimson and glinting with iridescence, is smeared across her high cheekbones, a mark both sacred and haunting.
"Another day in the world of echoes," she murmurs, as the wind tugs at her painted skin, making the colors ripple and flow.
Seris approaches the mirror, tracing her reflection with a trembling finger. The dragon blood on her face pulses with a life of its own, memories flickering in the glass—fire, wings, and a battle lost in a forgotten age. She closes her eyes, feeling the weight of her horns and the ache in her wings, remembering what was sacrificed to become what she is now.
"They called me a monster, once," she whispers to her reflected self, voice thick with regret.
The Boy, small and defiant in a patched coat, stares at Seris with awe and fear. He hesitates, then steps forward, his shoes scraping the stone. The air crackles with energy, colors from Seris's wings bleeding into the mist around him.
"Are you an angel or a demon?" he asks, voice quivering but curious.
"I am both, and neither," she replies, her painted lips curling into a bittersweet smile.
Seris kneels beside the Boy, her wings folding protectively around them both. The dragon blood on her cheek glows brighter, casting ruby light across his face. She tells him the story of the battle, of dragons and betrayal, and the price she paid for her power—her humanity, traded for survival in a world that had forgotten its heroes.
"You carry pain, but also hope. That is what makes you powerful," she tells him, voice trembling with memory and longing.
The dragon blood on Seris's face mingles with the rain, streaking down her jaw and onto the stones. She stands, wings spread wide, and the colors of her skin leap outward, flowing into the city, bringing murals to life. The Boy laughs, spinning in the rain, as painted birds and dragons take flight from the walls.
"You made the city beautiful again," he shouts, joy echoing through the empty streets.
Seris looks back at the Boy, hope kindling in her painted eyes. The dragon blood on her face has faded, replaced by a gentle golden glow. She knows her journey is not over, but for the first time in centuries, she believes redemption is possible.
"If you ever need me, look for the colors," she calls, voice bright and clear, as she takes flight into the radiant morning sky.
