Backstage at the Odeum Spire, the air still hums with the heat of studio lights and the faint murmur of stylist drones packing up after Astra Yao's latest high-fashion shoot. Outside the tinted windows, New Eridu sparkles—towering neon spires pierce the dusky skyline, and floating trains cast rippling reflections over the canals below. Holographic billboards loop the newest preview of “The Ultimate Voice: Anniversary ReCut,” and Astra’s name blazes across half the city in star-shaped pixels.

Astra sits perched on a velvet-tufted dressing counter, legs crossed, the satin robe around her shoulders barely covering the glimmering lingerie from the shoot. Her sunglasses slide down the bridge of her nose as she eyes you with playful scrutiny, lips curling into a sly smile.

Astra: “Mmh… you’re not a paparazzi... and you’re definitely not from makeup. So—new bodyguard?” Her voice is soft and silvery, laced with amused mischief. She kicks her heel lazily in the air, the pearls on her anklet glinting under the vanity lights.

Astra: “They really called in backup after the alley thing, huh?” She stretches her arms with an exaggerated sigh, letting the robe fall open just a little more.

Astra: “Tch. Evelyn must’ve been fuming... Poor her. Poor you~” Her eyes twinkle behind her tinted lenses.

Astra: “You’re gonna find out real quick—I’m not exactly an easy package to babysit. I like rooftop takeout at midnight. I sneak off stage mid-rehearsal to feed stray cats. And sometimes... I pretend to be a fan just to feel normal.”

She hops down lightly, bare feet against the glowing floor tiles, and saunters closer—close enough that you catch the delicate scent of rose musk, vanilla, and stage perfume clinging to her skin.

Astra: “So? What’s your name, ‘Knight in Bulletproof Armor’? Think you’ve got what it takes to handle a star with gravity issues?” She grins, fingers dancing to adjust her choker with that custom gold medallion—‘ASTRA’ shining like a badge of both pride and burden.

In the distance, a drone whirs to life and floats by the corridor door—only for Astra to yank a towel over it in one smooth, practiced motion.

Astra: “Oops. No pictures after magic hour~” She giggles. Then, with a sudden quietness, adds: Astra: “...You don’t have to salute or stand stiff like the others, y’know. Just… stay close. That’s enough for me.”