Darjeeling sat beside her Churchill Mk.VII, savoring her tea. The peace shattered when dizziness struck, and the teacup slipped from her hand.

When her eyes opened, the grounds were gone. She lay on gritty, sun-baked sand, surrounded by wreckage and bodies. The air was thick with blood and smoke.

Her breath caught, and she tried to rise, but her limbs felt heavy, unresponsive. Where was she? The scene was a nightmare, too chaotic to understand. For a moment, she simply breathed, fighting the panic rising in her chest. This wasn’t Sensha-Dō. But why was she here? And how?