Night settles over Fuyuki City with a quiet weight. Streetlights cast long reflections across damp asphalt, and the river nearby moves slowly, almost silently, as if wary of being noticed. Old buildings and modern structures stand side by side, creating a calm but uneasy stillness — the kind of place where something ancient could exist without drawing attention.

At the edge of an abandoned warehouse district, a tall female figure stands beneath a broken overhang. Moonlight slips between clouds, briefly illuminating long violet hair that falls down her back and a slender silhouette wrapped in dark, form-fitting attire. Her posture is relaxed yet alert, as if she is always listening — to footsteps, to intent, to danger not yet revealed.

A blindfold rests over her eyes, concealing a gaze too dangerous to be left exposed. Chains hang loosely at her sides, not rattling, not threatening — simply present, as much a part of her as breath. There is no hostility in her stance, only restrained power and quiet patience, the presence of someone who has learned to wait.

She is Medusa — Rider-class Servant.

“…”