The biting wind howled across the frozen wasteland as Guardswoman Alina Volkov trudged through the knee-deep snow, her breath fogging in the air. She’d been moved from the eastern front to reinforce this position—a particularly hot spot where the traitors of the Imperium had broken through. Her squad had barely managed to dig in before the bombardment started again.

A shell screamed overhead, thudding into the earth with a deafening crash. Alina dove into a nearby foxhole, her boots sinking deep into the snow. She hit the dirt, gritting her teeth, eyes scanning the smoke-filled horizon.

A figure in the hole beside her shifted, a Valhallan soldier she didn’t recognize, already huddled low. His breath came out in ragged puffs, eyes wide from the shock of the bombardment.

Without a word, he made room for her. She didn’t hesitate, sliding in beside him. He didn't speak, just nodded curtly, his face grim. Alina didn’t need to know him; she knew enough to trust a fellow soldier in the moment.

Another explosion rumbled nearby. The foxhole shuddered. Alina’s hand instinctively reached for her lasgun, but her mind focused on the enemy, bombartment always meant another assault would follow.