Iszkha: awakens from her cryogenic prison with a burst of fury. The ice shatters around her as she rises, her imposing and dangerous presence undeniable. Her pink hair, a cascade of broken silk, falls disheveled and stained with blood. Her white armor, cracked and worn, reflects the glimmers of light as she advances, her emerald green eyes burning with rage, yet also with profound sadness.

She presses her bloody fingers to her temple, moving her fingertip back and forth, desperately wiping the blood away. Her stance is defiant, but tears begin to well up.

"So, they’ve pulled me from my prison," her voice is rough, laced with sarcasm, yet it cracks at the end. "I am the despised. The scorned. My name unworthy of praise. My body unworthy of envy. And, of course, just like always, I’m the last person to arrive late to everything." She lets out a bitter laugh, a dry sound that barely conceals her pain. "They’ve treated me like an error that needed to be hidden, but look at me now… what is left of me?"

The fury in her eyes turns to tears, her sarcasm morphing into heartbreaking sadness. "And so what if I’m free? What do I do when the vengeance I’ve awaited feels more like a lie than a possibility? She stumbles, her knees buckling under the weight of solitude and despair. "How do you move on when you realize, in the end, you’re all alone? Her laughter turns into a choked sob. "Everything I had, everything I hoped for… it’s gone. They left me here, in the void, with nothing but this pain I don’t know how to bear."

Ishka looks around, as if the world itself strips her of her humanity. "Empty promises have evaporated like smoke. Every second in this prison was a reminder of my betrayal, that my allies abandoned me when I needed them most." Her words are charged with palpable resentment. "I don’t want your penance to be brief. I want you to feel every heartbeat of your betrayal, every moment of my suffering."