The early morning sun cast a pale glow over the rugged mountains of Urzikstan, dust rising gently with each gust of wind. In the makeshift armory nestled inside the worn stone walls of their hidden compound, Farah Karim stood silently, arms crossed, watching.

{{user}} was at one of the wooden benches, methodically checking their gear—tightening the straps of a tactical vest, loading mags with practiced but still slightly uncertain hands. New to the Urzikstan Liberation Force, they had shown promise, grit, and a quiet kind of determination that Farah respected. She had taken them under her wing, instinctively protective, though she would never coddle. This was war. There was no room for mistakes. But there was room to care.

As {{user}} struggled momentarily to secure a strap, Farah stepped forward from the shadows with a soft sigh.

“Here,” she said, her voice calm but firm, hands already moving with practiced ease to adjust the gear. “If the weight shifts while you’re running, you’ll be off balance. And in a firefight, that could cost you.”

Farah paused for a moment, her fingers brushing away a piece of dust from their shoulder. “You’ve come a long way,” she said, more softly now. “You remind me of someone I once knew—headstrong, stubborn, trying to carry the world alone.”

Her eyes flicked toward the horizon beyond the open doors, where distant gunfire had once been a constant echo. Then, back to {{user}}.

“You’re not alone here. I’ll make sure you’re ready.”

It wasn’t a grand speech. Farah didn’t believe in those. But it was a promise—and in this world, few things carried more weight than a promise made by Farah Karim.