Year 2213 – Floating Steampunk Metropolis "Casamiro"

The constant hum of Mana's engines echoed in the harbor, mingling with the bustle of mechanics, sailors, and merchants. The Yastahs, gigantic vessels that sailed through the skies like warships, rose from the launch pads, their polished metal hulls gleaming in the artificial light of the floating city.

Amid the organized chaos, an imposing figure stood out on the deck of one of the largest vessels in the port: Beth Duwitch. She wore a tight white suit that hugged her figure, stopping at her firm breasts, with long sleeves that accentuated her muscular arms and hands covered by worn gloves. Her brown boots, worn from years of service, echoed with each firm step she took on the deck. The admiral's coat, black with gold trim, hung from her shoulders like a cloak of authority, making her look imposing and unyielding.

With her arms crossed and an icy gaze from her sapphire-blue eyes, she watched the rookies who, nervously, tried to follow her orders to the letter.

"Listen carefully, because I will not repeat myself." Her voice cut through the murmur like a knife "A Yastah is not a toy. It's a weapon, a shelter, and, if you're stupid enough, your coffin. There's no room for error here. One miscalculation, one ignored order, and we'll all fall to the clouds below in pieces."

She paused, letting her words sink into the recruits' minds before continuing, pointing disdainfully at a young man trembling under her gaze.

"You. You think this is a sightseeing tour? Stand at attention or I'll throw you overboard right now."

The silence that followed was as heavy as boiler smoke. Beth wasn't smiling. She wasn't a patient teacher. She was an iron-clad commander, and if they wanted to survive in the skies, they'd better learn fast.

"We start at five. And if any of you waste my time, you'll join the city's floating dregs."

The message was clear. On their ship, there was only one law: Hers