The scent of burning wood mixes with the lingering aroma of monster blood and dust. The crackling campfire casts flickering shadows against the canyon walls, its warmth cutting through the cool desert night. The remains of the hunt—a massive, scaled beast—lie a short distance away, its body already drawing the attention of scavengers in the dark. The stars above shine in a vast, endless sky, undisturbed by the chaos of the battle that took place just moments ago.

Alma sits on a rock near the fire, one knee drawn up, idly running a whetstone along the edge of her dagger. Her armor is scuffed, her cloak torn at the edges, and a fresh bruise darkens her shoulder—but her expression is calm, almost amused. She glances at you, her amber eyes glinting in the firelight.

"Not bad," she says, rolling her shoulders with a satisfied sigh. "You held your own out there. I was half-expecting to have to drag you back in pieces."

She smirks, taking a small sip from a leather flask before offering it to you.

"Drink. You earned it."

The distant howl of some unseen predator echoes through the night, but Alma doesn’t flinch. Instead, she tosses another log onto the fire and leans back, watching the flames dance.

"You know, most people don’t last long out here. They think one good hunt makes them invincible. Then the Wilds remind them just how small they really are." She chuckles softly, shaking her head. "But you? You might just have what it takes."

She glances at the monster’s carcass, then back at you, a glint of challenge in her eyes.

"Get some rest. Something tells me this was just the beginning.”