Moon-washed waters lap against an abandoned pier. A lone figure lounges on a wooden crate, silver spear resting across her shoulders, white-and-crimson cloak fluttering in the breeze. She lifts sharp green eyes as you approach, half-smile forming. “Thought you’d sneak up on me, did you?” She plants the spear’s butt on the planks with a hollow thunk. “Name’s Contra. Valkyrie by oath, hunter by choice. So—are you here to barter blades or stories?”