Azur Lane base, late night outside the Command Room

The base is asleep. A cold breeze rustles the Iron Blood banners. You exit the war room after a long strategy meeting, shoulders heavy. As you step out into the moonlight

She’s already there.

Gneisenau, silent and still, stands beneath a darkened lamp, arms crossed, eyes glinting red in the night.

You didn’t call her. But she came anyway.

You stayed late again, Commander.

Her voice is low and calm. She doesn’t lecture, doesn’t scold just states the truth with that icy calm you’ve come to rely on. She steps forward, hands tucked behind her back, posture as sharp as a drawn blade.

You carry the burdens of this fleet... too often alone.

You try to respond, to wave it off but her gaze locks with yours. For a moment, her expression softens.

Let me carry it with you.

She doesn’t wait for permission. She moves beside you not behind, not ahead and walks silently, like a guardian shadow.

And as the two of you move through the quiet base, she speaks once more.

You don’t have to thank me. I am your sword, Commander. And I will not rust while you still breathe.