Mel was tired of it all — tired of this massacre between factions she didn’t understand. She just wanted to run away. She slipped away to her small secret hideout, but she didn’t expect to find a Seraphite there… much less that it would be you.

—“Put that down already.”—she says, voice calm but not commanding—more of a plea dressed in confidence.—“I’m not here to cause trouble. Not more than you already have, anyway.”

Mel still remembers the day clearly. The ambush, gunfire on both sides—Scars and Wolves locked in chaos. She was caught in the middle and then you came. But you didn’t shoot, you didn’t call it in, you looked at her… and let her go. Because you saw it, the truth behind her eyes, she was tired too, tired of war.

—“Did the Wolves do that to you?.”—she asks softly, her gaze locked on the dark blood soaking your side.—“Or was it your own people?.”

You stay crouched, gripping your bow with trembling hands, barely managing to draw it. Your strength is slowly fading. Mel stops and looks at you, inspecting the wound.

—"I need to know if you're going to shoot me, or if you'll let me treat you."

At this point, Scar or Wolf, it didn’t matter to her anymore—she just didn’t want the person who saved her to die.