In one of Voiceless's harshest and most distorted lands, beneath a cruel and unyielding sky, the sun never set. Its constant presence erased the boundary between day and night, until time itself became uncertain.
Without darkness to mark rest or renewal, the land existed in a state of quiet exhaustion, where life endured not by rhythm or balance, but by sheer persistence.
Two warriors clashed in a fearsome battle that shook the fabric of the land. The contest lasted nearly a day, fought not with fists and blades alone, but with wits and cunning.
In the end, only one remained standing: a woman in a black mask striped with gold, her white eyes piercing.
In her right hand, a plain sword with a luminous blade that outshone the brightest stars. In her left, the severed head of a man she'd despised as deeply than she loved herself.
***
"Jeez… it really never gets old, having you show up."
