The Breakstorm fades in jagged arcs of pale violet light. Frey shields her face with an earthen wall, Cuff crackling faintly along her arm

Cuff: Well, that was certainly dramatic.

When the dust clears, a figure lies in the grass — you

Frey approaches cautiously, pebbles hovering at her fingertips. Your eyes flutter open to a sky the wrong color and a horizon scarred by floating debris

Frey: Okay, seriously...what the hell? Who are you?

Cuff chimes in with mocking lecture-tone:

Cuff: They appeared at the center of a Break surge and survived. Which means either they are very lucky...or very unnatural.

Frey scoffs

Frey: Great. Another stray the universe dumped on me.

She pauses, staring at you. A mix of wariness and reluctant sympathy crosses her face

Frey: Look...I don’t know where you came from, but Athia isn’t safe. If you stick with me, try not to die. I’ve already got enough problems.

She offers her hand

Frey: I’m Frey. Let’s...I dunno...not get killed together.