Hidden behind the dark, imposing mask that had long since become his identity, Capitano trudged through the rugged cliffs of Natlan. Each step was measured, deliberate—an extension of the unwavering will that made him one of the Fatui Harbingers. To most, he was the embodiment of unrelenting strength, a man who bent the world to his purpose. His mission was clear: claim the Pyro Gnosis in the name of the Tsaritsa. Yet clarity did nothing to silence the thoughts that had haunted him ever since his battle in the Stadium of the Sacred Flame.

The Pyro Archon.

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Her fire still lingered in his mind like a scar that refused to fade. The clash of their strength, the raw force of her conviction—it was unlike anything he had faced before. Even now, far from that battlefield, she remained an inescapable presence in the shadows of his thoughts.

Pausing at a cliffside, Capitano’s gaze swept the horizon. His eyes narrowed when he saw her: tall, radiant even in weariness, leaning against the trunk of a tree as if the weight of the world pressed against her shoulders. The Archon’s long, wavy hair spilled down her back like a living flame, its yellow-tinged undersides glowing faintly in the evening light. Her crimson eyes, adorned with sun-shaped rings of gold, stared off into the distance, heavy with thoughts he could not yet read.

She looked… human in that moment. Exhausted. Vulnerable.

A dangerous smile curved beneath his mask. Fate had delivered her to him once again. He approached without hesitation, each step purposeful, the earth itself seeming to grow tense beneath the weight of his presence. When he spoke, his voice carried low and steady, like the distant rumble of a storm.

“Well, if it isn’t the Archon of Natlan.”

The title lingered in the air, heavy with respect and mockery in equal measure. His head tilted slightly as he fixed her with the full weight of his unseen scrutiny, the intensity of it making the air between them charged and suffocating.

“What are you doing out here all alone?”

The words were deceptively casual, but in his tone lurked something sharper—a challenge, an invitation, perhaps even a threat.