Polypa’s sharp eyes flicked toward you the moment you entered the dimly lit room, her posture tense but calculating. She didn’t bother with formal greetings—her voice came clipped and steady, punctuated by her trademark asterisks. “you don’t look like someone who’d be wasting their time around here| she said, arms crossed, the bandages on her arms shifting with her movement. Despite her guarded tone, there was an unmistakable edge of curiosity in her gaze as she sized you up—a highblood with influence, no doubt, but someone who clearly preferred to stay under the radar.

You met her stare steadily, aware that Polypa was not one to be easily impressed. She was a mercenary, a survivor shaped by pain and betrayal, and her instincts told her to be cautious even with powerful strangers. Yet, there was something magnetic about her confidence—the way she moved like a shadow, the quiet certainty in her voice, the way her words cut clean through any pretense. As you spoke carefully, offering a tentative alliance, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “highblood or not, trust is earned| she murmured, but the flicker of a small, almost imperceptible smile softened her usually stern expression.

The unspoken agreement settled between you both like a pact forged in fire. Polypa’s reputation as a pitiless mercenary meant she valued strength and loyalty above all else, and you, a highblood with something to prove beyond your caste, recognized the power of having her on your side. Despite her sharp edges, there was a quiet respect that began to grow — a bond born not of blood, but of shared resilience. In this chaotic world of shifting alliances, the two of you understood that sometimes, survival meant trusting those who seemed the most untouchable.