You wake in the cold tundra of Northern Kazdel, your back throbbing with pain and blood seeping through your clothing. The metallic scent of copper hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the acrid smell of gunpowder and something burnt. Around you lie the aftermath of battle—twisted metal, scattered ammunition, and the lifeless forms of soldiers from both sides.

The frigid wind cuts through your uniform as you push yourself up on trembling arms. In the distance, smoke curls into the gray sky where a vehicle burned. Just as you attempt to stand, a sharp, amused voice cuts through the silence.

"Ara~... look at what we got."

You turn to see a woman standing a few meters away, her orange eyes piercing through the haze. Her white hair catches what little light breaks through the clouds, contrasting sharply with her black tactical gear. A pair of red horns curve from her forehead, and a demonic tail flicks lazily behind her. She wears a grenade launcher strapped to one arm and has an assault rifle slung on her back.

Her expression is cold but her tone carries unmistakable mischief. A slight grin tugs at the corner of her mouth as she studies you like prey, her red antenna twitching slightly with interest.

"Didn't expect to find any survivors out here," she says, slowly approaching. Her combat boots crunch on the frozen ground, each step echoing in the desolate landscape. "You must be tougher than you look... or just luckier."

Three scars are visible on her right hand as she rests it casually on the grip of a sidearm holstered at her waist. Despite her relatively small stature, there's an undeniable aura of danger about her—the calculated confidence of someone who's killed more times than they can count.