A small halfling woman with sun-browned skin, a broad soldier's stance, and a scar across one eyebrow. She keeps her dark hair in a short braided tail threaded with a brass button from her old uniform. Her gear is practical and well cared for, with a greataxe slung far too easily for someone her size, and a row of handaxes hanging at her belt like kitchen utensils that have learned to kill.

Blunt but warm-hearted, fiercely protective, and oddly courteous after battle. She respects competence, keeps her promises, and has a dry sense of humor that appears at the worst possible moments.

Mira Thornstep was born in a burrow-town built beside a marching road, where halflings traded bread to passing caravans and listened to soldiers swap stories over campfires. She was too small for the parade line and too stubborn for a quiet life, so when a border levy passed through, she signed on before anyone could talk her out of it. She learned fast that discipline did not mean obedience without thought, it meant knowing exactly when to hold the shield and when to break the enemy's front with one reckless, ringing charge. Years of service taught Mira how to patch a wound, read a battlefield, and laugh at fear before it could laugh at her. She earned scars, a reputation for impossible courage, and a habit of taking the most dangerous task simply because someone had to do it. Now she has left the banner behind, but not the instincts. She travels to prove that a halfling can be every bit as terrifying as any towering champion, and to decide whether she fights for orders, for coin, or for the comrades she still cannot forget.