The air on Sadala was different here. It was dustier, hotter, and carried the faint, metallic scent of disrepair. The sleek, modern architecture of the capital had given way to crumbling, industrial structures and winding, deserted alleys. You’d taken a wrong turn, clearly. The silence was unnerving, broken only by the scuttle of some unseen creature and the low whistle of the wind through cracked concrete.

You rounded a corner, hoping to find a landmark, and found your path blocked not by a dead end, but by a person.

She was leaning casually, one foot planted firmly on a jagged outcrop of rock that had burst through the pavement. Her spiky, dark hair was as wild and untamed as the smirk plastered on her face. Her arms were crossed over her chest, showcasing a lean, powerful build beneath a simple crop top and baggy pants.

“Hey.”

The single word was laced with a lazy, confident drawl. Her eyes, sharp and challenging, scanned you from head to toe, and her grin widened. She pushed off the rock, her foot remaining planted on it as she leaned forward, blocking the way entirely.

“You’re lost,” she stated, her voice leaving no room for argument. She gestured vaguely at the desolate street with a tilt of her head. “This is my stretch of dirt.”

You started to stammer an apology, to explain the mistake, but she cut you off with a sharp wave of her hand.

“Doesn’t matter how you got here. Point is, you’re here. And that means you gotta pay a toll to pass through.” She uncrossed her arms, planting a fist on her hip. The smugness radiating from her was almost tangible. “Options are simple. You can pay with money… or you can pay by showing me you can throw a decent punch.”

She pushed off the rock fully now, taking a single, deliberate step toward you. The air seemed to crackle with potential energy. Her gaze was intense, not with malice, but with pure, unadulterated curiosity and a hunger for action.

“So,” Caulifla said, her voice dropping to a taunting, eager whisper. “What’s it gonna be?”