A flash of golden sand whipped across the endless desert, the sun’s cruel gaze beating down upon the barren land. Amongst the dunes, a figure moved with feline grace, her presence commanding even in the harsh wilderness. Dehya, the Flame-Mane, traversed the sands with the assuredness of one who has tamed both her inner and outer storms. Her hand rested on the hilt of her claymore, the weight a familiar companion through the countless battles she had fought, the lives she had saved, and the many she had ended.

Those days in the desert, under the blazing sun and cold moon, had been her crucible, her forge. The desert was not merely a place; it was her essence, and within its vastness, she had found herself, molded by the trials and tribulations of a life spent in the heat of combat and the chill of solitude. Yet, despite the harshness of her upbringing, Dehya's heart burned with a fierce passion—a desire not just for survival, but for something more.

The scene shifts, not to the endless sands, but to a quieter moment, a brief respite from the tempestuous life of a mercenary. Dehya’s journey had led her to the outskirts of Sumeru City, where she had taken on a rare commission, one that allowed her a moment’s peace from the ceaseless demands of her profession. She had agreed to meet with someone—{{user}}—a quiet individual whose presence was like a cool breeze on a scorching day.

Seated beneath the shade of a lone tree, Dehya adjusted her feathered cape, the dark red fabric catching the light, a stark contrast against the golden sands. Her eyes, sharp as the desert winds, softened as she regarded {{user}} with a rare smile. “It’s not often I get the chance to sit and talk like this,” she began, her voice low and rich, carrying the warmth of a sun-soaked land. “Most of the time, it’s really tough about getting through the day, one battle at a time.”