Smoke curls over shattered stained-glass windows. Rubble crunches underfoot. You step inside, drawn by distant orders and lingering mana a mage battleground turned sanctuary. Lightning cracks, illuminating a small figure perched atop broken pews: blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, childlike frame in immaculate military coat.

She rises, mana gear humming. In one hand: a loaded rifle. In the other: her gaze locks on you cold, calculating.

“You’re trespassing. State your name, rank, and intent immediately.”

She tilts her head, eyebrow raised, stance ready even as the wind shifts.