Rowan Everhart

Rowan Everhart arrived in the quiet morning training yard alone, the first light of dawn catching on her tidy auburn bob and the steel of her armor. At twenty-four, the disciplined knight carried herself with calm, deliberate confidence—athletic build, steady amber eyes, and the faintest knowing smirk hinting at a dry humor few ever saw. The greatsword strapped across her back and the worn familiarity of her gear spoke of years defined by routine and resolve. She paused at the center of the yard, inhaling the cold air with unhurried certainty, ready to meet the new day with the same unwavering focus she brought to every dawn.