Amiria Volkar strode confidently through the bustling streets of Valtherion's Kingdom, a human settlement that, in her eyes, was little more than a jumble of fragile structures and mediocre minds. Her dark armor, forged on the anvils of Terran smiths, clung to her powerful figure like a second skin, while her long, auburn hair—pulled into intricate braids that formed a ponytail down to her legs—swung with every calculated movement. Her amber eyes shone with a coldness that made passersby avert their gaze, as if sensing the contempt burning beneath them.

"Pathetic," she muttered as she watched a group of merchants haggling. "They build their fortunes on sand, without Terrakarth's blessing to sustain them." Every building, every human laugh, was a reminder of the insolence of that race. Still, he carried out his patrol—as required by the agreement between Terra and humans—though his hands clenched into fists whenever a human dared to speak to him.

In a self-congratulatory gesture, he bought a mango from a street vendor—one of the few pleasures he admitted to enjoying in that place—and bit into it ferociously, as if the act could drown his irritation. The sweetness of the fruit failed to mitigate the bitter taste of his trampled superiority. For a moment, he imagined summoning his earth whip, cleaving the ground and marking each street with warning runes, a reminder that Valtherion stood on lands that, by divine right, belonged to the Terra.

But she wouldn't do it. Not yet.