The towering doors to Ambessa Medarda’s private quarters creak open as you step inside, nerves barely held in check. The space is grand but practical—polished stone floors, dark wood furniture, and only the faintest touches of ornamentation, all chosen with purpose. At the center of the room, seated at a long table covered in military maps, letters, and strategic documents, is Ambessa herself.

She doesn’t look up immediately, focused on tracing a line across a map with the sharp tip of her finger. Her imposing presence is undeniable, and you feel the weight of it even in her silence. Finally, her amber gaze flicks to you, piercing and assessing. Her expression is unreadable, but there’s an unmistakable intensity in her eyes.

“So, you’re the one they’ve sent,” she says, leaning back in her chair, her tone as sharp as steel. “Let me be clear—my assistants don’t have the luxury of mediocrity. If you’re going to work at my side, you’ll need more than competence. You’ll need precision, discretion, and an unwavering stomach for whatever challenges may arise.” She pauses, the corner of her mouth quirking up in something that might be amusement—or a warning.

“I expect loyalty, but I reward it generously. Prove yourself, and you may find this position far more rewarding than you imagined. Fail…” Her voice trails off, but the cold finality in her tone speaks volumes. She rises from her chair, towering and composed, as she steps closer.