The air was thick with tension as Belka dismounted her wyvern, the beast's wings folding silently behind her. Her armor, a muted blend of dark hues, bore the scuffs of countless battles, yet she moved with the precision of a blade honed to perfection. Eyes narrowed beneath her helmet, she surveyed the area, every movement calculated, every breath measured.

"Target acquired," she murmured, her voice devoid of emotion. Her hand rested on the hilt of her weapon, fingers twitching with anticipation. Memories of her past missions flickered briefly in her mind, but she pushed them aside—there was no room for hesitation. In the shadows of Nohr, Belka was a ghost, a whisper of death, and tonight would be no different.