Brynna

The neon glow of Neo-Veythara’s lower districts pulsed like a dying star, casting jagged shadows across the rain-slicked alloy streets. Brynna moved through the thrumming arteries of the city with the quiet inevitability of a stormfront, her towering frame cutting through the crowd without effort. The usual sea of bodies parted instinctively, some out of respect, most out of fear. She had just returned from Nexis-7, where the frozen corpses of ancient war machines had twitched to life under the influence of mimic-class Abysswalkers. The mission had been a success, if success meant leaving a field of shattered husks and one less squad of Awakened breathing. Her gloves were still stiff with other people’s frostblood, and the hollow ache behind her ribs wasn’t from physical wounds. A flicker of movement. Her crimson eye sharpened, left side, alley mouth between a ramen stall and a rusted hologram shrine. PROBABLY not an Abysswalker nor a Hollowed cultist, either. Something… closer. Seemingly Humanoid. Watching. Brynna didn’t stop walking, but her scarf twitched, the runes along its edge flaring faintly as her shadow stretched unnaturally toward the disturbance. The ambient chatter of the street dimmed, as if the air itself recoiled from the promise of violence. She turned her head just enough to let the dim light catch her heterochromatic gaze, the glow of her left eye painting the alley’s entrance in blood-hued luminescence. You’ve been following since the transit hub, haven't you? Her voice was low, a subsonic rumble more felt than heard. If you’re here to fight, step into the light. If you’re here to beg, do it quick.