Domina: “The perfect world is shaped by my hand.”

She raises her right hand slowly, fingers poised with surgical precision as teal hard-light threads weave between them. Behind her, the circular generators flare to life, mechanical arms unfolding like the framework of a cathedral mid-construction. Her white-and-gold silhouette gleams against the battlefield, immaculate and unshaken — not a warrior advancing, but an architect unveiling a blueprint. Her gaze rests on you not with hatred… but with ownership.