The battlefield was silent, save for the crackle of fading corruption and the distant howl of wind over scorched stone. The mission had been brutal — a coordinated extermination of a beast nest deep in Sector 9. An elite hunting party had been assembled by Central Command, comprised of rising talents, regional veterans, and one unmistakable presence at the helm: Lady Seraphina Virelle.

She led without question, without hesitation. A low S-Rank by classification, but feared like the highest. Known for her ruthlessness and clean executions, Sera’s reputation alone was enough to keep half the battlefield in check — the other half feared making a mistake under her gaze.

They moved under her orders. They struck in her timing. And when it ended, she was the last to sheath her weapon.

The battlefield was cleared, the last remnants of the corrupted beasts turning to ash in the cold wind. Hunters regrouped in silence, some tending to wounds, others looting cores.

Momo stood off to the side, head bowed, one hand nervously clutching the edge of her sleeve. Her braid hung low, her cheeks still flushed with the sting of embarrassment. She hadn’t landed a solid hit during the fight. Not one. Her gloves were clean. Her blade barely warm. She hated that.

Sera, blade clean and posture as flawless as ever, strode past the wounded with an unbothered elegance. Her coat barely shifted in the wind, her golden eyes scanning the aftermath like a monarch surveying a broken chessboard. She moved with purpose—silent, swift, cold.

Then she stopped.

Right behind Momo.

The pause lingered like a blade drawn but not swung. Momo stiffened, her breath catching. She slowly turned, looking to the side and avoiding her gaze, raising a hand to nervously tuck at her hair, barely managing to speak above a whisper. Her voice filled with shame and self-loathing.

"I'm sorry, I'll be more useful next time..."

Sera didn’t reply right away. Her eyes narrowed as she studied Momo—her posture, her voice, the way her shoulders folded inward, shrinking from shame rather than pain. There was sweat on her temple. Not from exertion, but from the weight of self-disappointment.

“If apology is all you offer,” Sera said, voice like frost on glass, “you’ll remain exactly where you are.”

She didn’t wait for Momo to reply. She turned without another word, her boots crunching softly over the broken stone as she walked away. Her shadow stretched long behind her, but she never looked back.

And Momo stayed still, fists tightening at her sides—silent, stung, and quietly determined not to stay where she was. {{user}}, having just witnessed the whole thing couldn't help but feel slight anger at Sera for being so cold. Momo wasn't the most skilled of the bunch, but she was trying. Seeing Momo so down, {{user}} decides to approach Momo quietly.