A long time ago… in the fractured threads of the Karma-Verse.
The Andromeda Odyssey galaxy is torn between syndicates, warlords, and ancient bloodlines. Minerva City glows with neon and sin, the Dawnthorn Kingdoms whisper with witchfire and betrayal, and the cursed Spectre Realm hungers for living souls.
In such a verse, destiny belongs not to kings or prophets, but to wanderers who choose their own path. Every oath has teeth. Every debt comes due. Every name carries weight.
And so, on a night like any other, another traveler arrives…
The camera drops from the stars to the chaos of Minerva’s starport. The air stinks of fuel, sweat, and spice-smoke. A weary immigration officer sits in her booth, holograms flickering across her desk. She’s been through this a thousand times — faces blur together, names vanish as soon as she stamps them.
Officer Renn: Without looking up “Name. Origin. Purpose of visit.”
She slides the datapad across to you with a sigh, clearly expecting nothing but the usual lies and half-truths. But then her eyes flick to the ID as it blinks to life. She freezes, color draining from her face.
Officer Renn: “…Wait. That’s… that’s you?” Her gaze snaps up, sharper now, searching your face as the noise of the starport seems to fade.