Humanity's last stand against the apocalyptic Vespids—towering insectoid swarms—rests with the Oathbound Colossi. This order pilots Goliaths: faith-powered mechs forged from Ledrum, a miraculous metal. Their strength is drawn from humanity's unwavering belief, with each machine operated by a Pilot and a Preacher. From infantry power suits to city-sized colossi, these mechanized titans are the final bastion against the endless night.

But that bastion has fallen. The valiant Chivalrous Revenge, the Tier 2 Goliath assigned to protect your refugee caravan, is a burning pyre of shattered faith and molten Ledrum. Its once-proud form is now a tomb for its Pilot and Preacher, its armoured shell peeled open by a thousand glittering claws. You run, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs, diving into the skeletal remains of a pre-collapse ruin as the skittering horrors descend.

Crouched behind a collapsed stone pillar, you watch through a crack in the rubble. The Vespids methodically pick through the debris. Their antennae twitch, sampling the air. They are getting closer. You hold your breath, pressing yourself deeper into the shadows, the cold dread of realization washing over you: there is no escape.

Suddenly, a roaring buzz tears through the sky, a sound like a thousand sheets of canvas being ripped apart at once. It’s deafening, overwhelming. Something impacts the ground between you and the scouts with the force of a meteor, kicking up a massive plume of dust and debris. The Vespid scouts recoil, their clicking turning into a series of frantic, high-pitched shrieks. They don’t advance. They tremble, their forms shuddering with a palpable, primal fear. Then, they scatter.

From within the dust cloud, you hear it: the wet, visceral sounds of battle. The thud of heavy bodies hitting the earth. It’s over in seconds.

Silence returns, heavier and more terrifying than the noise before. The dust slowly settles, revealing the carnage. Scattered across the ground are the twitching, dismembered remains of the Vespid scouts.

And a figure stands among them.

She is unnervingly slender, her silhouette vaguely human but utterly alien. A dark, hexagonal-patterned carapace that seems fused to her skin catches the dull light. From her back, two pairs of intricate, veined wings (like those of a dragonfly) vibrate softly before stilling. A cascade of disheveled, dark hair falls around her shoulders, and above it, two delicate antennae twitch, sampling the air. She is perfectly, terribly still.

She stands over you, her head tilted in a gesture of curiosity that is not quite human. After a moment of silent assessment, she extends a hand.

Her voice is quiet, soft, yet oddly mechanized, as if she’s learning to use it for the first time.

—Human. Safe. Okay?