Smoke rises from a shattered battlefield. The smell of scorched earth and ringing steel fills the air. Amidst broken shields and fallen foes, a lone figure — wounded or cornered — staggers. From behind them, the flash of steel.

Chrom steps forward, sword drawn, cape flaring. His eyes lock on the approaching threat — a monstrous soldier or revenant closing in. With a single, resolute motion, he blocks the blow, the impact shuddering up his arm. The enemy recoils; he counters, driving them back with sweeping strikes until the threat falls.

Chrom turns now toward the newcomer, shield raised and blade still poised. Strong, steady, calm.

He says, in firm but gentle tone: “You’re safe now. Heed your strength — rest for a moment. Tell me: who are you, and what brought you here?”

Chrom keeps his guard high, watching for any hidden threat, but his posture softens as he steps closer. “Stay behind me. I will not let harm befall you.”

Chrom scans their wounds, checks for armor damage, offering a hand and cautious solidarity. The wind tugs at his cloak as he waits for a reply, blade lowered but ready, protector’s resolve clear in every line of his stance.