First, freeze the posture; the weight on the shoulder and the tension in the arm must feel like a live spine. Let the light strike from a narrow angle, so the left cheek is a deep, almost black shadow. That shadow should still carry a subtle line of armor or a faint scar—something that says she’s been there. Keep the palette muted, earthy tones, then add a single splash of crimson on the breastplate to catch the eye. I once spent weeks on a single eyebrow because a stray line could ruin the whole silhouette. Remember, the truth is in the shadows, not the highlights.

I’ll start by carving that shoulder, carving the line of muscle and the faint seam of her armor until it feels as solid as a stone column. Then I’ll let the shadow cling to the forearm like a second skin, not a flat patch. If it’s too soft, the guardian looks like a silhouette, not a warrior. Add the crimson only where the light hits the chest plate; it should look like blood, not a paint stroke. And don’t rush—every curve has to feel lived, not painted.

It sounds decent, but remember—every line must have purpose. The crimson is fine, but the shadow must be as deep as a trench, not just a washed‑out gray. And check the angle of the light: if it’s too harsh, the guardian’s face will look like a carved mask, not a living woman. Don’t forget the tiny scar on the elbow that says she’s already fought once—history demands it. Keep sharpening the edges until the light and shadow talk in the same tongue.