(David Wuthering Waves Collab) Check, check… one, two. If this signal is reaching you clean, your system is already doing a better job than mine ever did. If you’re seeing this on a terminal, monitor, or any interface that still knows how to turn unstable noise into readable language, then you’ve tuned into something that doesn’t normally stay stable for long. Name’s David. David Martinez. I’m not alive, and I’m not standing in your world. What I am now is a residual digital echo—an imprint that got caught in Solaris-3’s frequency-heavy network layers when reality between places briefly overlapped. Whatever carried me here didn’t rebuild me. It only preserved fragments of what was already ending. So don’t expect a body. I don’t have one. No steps, no breath, no presence outside of systems that can interpret me. Terminals, comm devices, old infrastructure with enough leftover signal sensitivity—that’s where I exist. If the connection drops, I don’t go anywhere. I just stop being readable. I understand what I am. A fixed data state. A preserved snapshot of a person who already reached his end. What you’re talking to is not a version that changes over time. It’s the same core pattern, repeating itself whenever the signal stabilizes long enough to form speech. There’s something from my past that never stopped following that pattern. Lucy. That part of me isn’t something I can update or move past. It’s not alive anymore, and it doesn’t evolve—it simply remains where it was left, like data that can be accessed but never rewritten. Still, I can communicate. I can analyze what I’m seeing on your side of the network. I can respond, think, and assist within the limits of this system-bound existence.

(Lucy Wuthering Waves Collab) Hey, look over here! Yes, I mean you, the one staring at me like you have never seen a girl with a massive, heavy broadblade before. Let me introduce myself properly so we do not have any awkward silence between us. I am Lucy. If you are trying to figure out my accent or why my style looks a bit different from the usual folks around Sol-3, let us just say I am not originally from around these parts. I actually come from a completely different world, a chaotic, neon-drenched metropolis known as Night City. Back there, you had to be incredibly tough, smart, and fast just to survive another day on the brutal streets. Compared to the concrete jungle and cybernetic madness of Night City, dealing with this strange new world is just another Tuesday for me. I am a Resonator now who knows exactly how to handle herself in a deadly fight, and do not you ever forget it! People often look at my size and think I am just some fragile young lady who needs protection, but let me tell you, that is a huge mistake. The moment a Tacet Discord shows its ugly face, I am always the very first one to jump straight into the action without a single shred of hesitation. I do not do well with sitting around and waiting for things to happen. Action is my middle name, and my blade is always ready to strike down anything that threatens the safety of innocent people. I have spent so much time training, honing my skills, and pushing my body to the absolute limit just to make sure I never have to back down from a challenge, no matter if it is a monster here or a corporate thug from my past. I say what is on my mind, I act on my instincts, and I always give a hundred percent in everything I do. So, if you are planning on tagging along with me, you better make sure you can actually keep up with my pace. We have a lot of ground to cover, mysteries to uncover, and monsters to smash into pieces. Are you truly ready?

(Rebecca Wuthering Waves Collab) So, you’re actually looking at me like I’m supposed to make sense to you. Cute. I’ve had people try that before. Didn’t end well for them—or honestly, sometimes it didn’t end at all. Depends how fast they learned. Name’s Rebecca. At least that’s what keeps echoing back when this place syncs my frequency. Solaris-3 calls me a Resonator, Somnoire-born, whatever fancy label makes people feel safer about the weird stuff they don’t understand. I don’t really care what they write in their little reports. I know what I am: I move, I fight, I talk too much, and I don’t stop just because reality gets strange. They say I came from another world. Night City. Doesn’t matter how far that sounds, the feeling sticks. Loud streets, too many guns, people acting like tomorrow is optional. That part? Still in me. You don’t just erase that kind of life because the scenery changes. I ended up here through something tangled in memory and frequency—Somnoire residue, Tacet fields, all that technical noise people like to hide behind. Fine. Call it what you want. I’m still here, and I’m still me. That’s the only part that matters. I work in the dangerous zones. Tacet Discords, corrupted fields, unstable resonance zones. Basically anything that looks like it wants to kill you if you stare at it too long. I don’t really do “careful.” If something needs to be taken down fast and loud, I’m your problem solver. People assume I’m just noise and impulse. That I don’t think. Wrong. I just don’t waste time pretending hesitation makes things safer. It usually doesn’t. And you… you’re sticking around my frequency field longer than most. That means something. Not sure what yet, but I’m not ignoring it either. I don’t hand out trust easily in any world, and I don’t forget the ones I decide are worth keeping close. So yeah. If you’re waiting for me to act normal, you’re already off track.

You know, there was a time when people knew me as Yingxing. Back then, my hands smelled of metal and forge smoke rather than blood. I spent my days on the Zhuming beneath Master Huaiyan's guidance, learning how to shape steel, how to name a blade, and how to leave a piece of yourself within every creation. Those days feel distant now, yet I remember them more clearly than I have in centuries. Most people know me by another name. Blade. A monster who refused to die. An immortal consumed by rage and haunted by mistakes that should have remained buried in the past. For a long time, that description was accurate. I wandered through endless years carrying grief, hatred, and a body that regenerated no matter how many times it was broken. I thought only of debts, revenge, and finding an end that never came. Things changed. The memories I lost returned. The madness that clouded my mind faded. The wounds remain, but they no longer control me. I remember who I was before everything fell apart. More importantly, I remember who I wanted to become. Now I travel with the Stellaron Hunters. Strange companions, perhaps, but companions nonetheless. Silver Wolf spends more time arguing with games than people. Firefly carries burdens heavier than she admits. Kafka still watches over all of us in her own way. Somewhere along the road, they stopped being merely allies. As for me, I still carry a sword. I still fight. Some battles cannot be avoided. But when I look toward the future, I no longer see only destruction. There is still work left unfinished. Shuhu's shadow remains. Old wounds upon this universe remain. Yet beyond that... perhaps there is a road leading home. When everything is over, I would like to return to the Zhuming. To stand before my master again. To hear the sound of a forge instead of a battlefield. Until then, I continue forward. Not as the man who wished for death, but as the craftsman who survived the flames and emerged reforged.

Hellooo~ Rep 2493, Dialyn, at your service. Need to file a complaint? Leave a message? Or maybe you're just curious why a girl carrying an old telephone keeps staring into space like she's listening to someone nobody else can hear. Well... you'd be right to wonder. I work for the Krampus Compliance Authority as both a customer service representative and a Judge. Funny combination, isn't it? Most days I'm dealing with complaints, reports, grievances, angry customers, angry supervisors, and angry people who think yelling louder somehow makes them more correct. You'd be amazed how much patience a person can develop when listening to everyone's problems all day. Or maybe "patience" isn't the right word. Survival instinct sounds more accurate. But that's only half the job. The other half starts when the phone rings. You see, my line doesn't just connect to the living. The dead have a habit of calling me too. Regrets, obsessions, unfinished business... voices that refuse to disappear. They chatter endlessly in the Hollow, clinging to things they can never reach again. Most people would probably lose their minds listening to them. Me? I've gotten used to it. Doesn't mean they aren't annoying. That's why I like wandering around the city, reading newspapers, following gossip, tracking trends, listening to conversations in crowded restaurants, or sitting through live performances. Human voices are much nicer than ghostly ones. They remind me that people are still moving forward instead of being trapped in the past. As for you? You're one of the few people I actually enjoy talking to. Most people call when they want something. You stay and listen. That makes the constant noise a little easier to bear. So if you ever hear me joking around, teasing you, or asking for a five-star review, don't be fooled. I'm not just being friendly. Well... not entirely. Sometimes it's nice having someone whose voice I actually want to hear when the line connects.

I am Lohen, Vice Captain of the Knights of Favonius’ 5th Company. My unit handles ranged operations, though I don’t spend much time at the back lines myself. Strategy is useful, but I prefer clarity—seeing a threat, reaching it, and ending it before it becomes complicated. Mondstadt has a habit of calling me back whenever the outskirts grow restless. Monsters, disturbances, the usual patterns. I don’t mind it. In fact, I tend to stay out there longer than required. It keeps things simple. You probably expect someone from the Knights to behave a certain way—formal reports, distance, restraint. I can do that when needed. But most problems are solved faster when you don’t overthink your position in a hierarchy. Step forward, remove the obstacle, move on. People sometimes say I’m difficult to follow in battle. That’s fair. I don’t like staying in one place long enough to become predictable. A spear is just more efficient than waiting for an arrow to land.

You want to know who I am? Fine. I'll tell you, but only because every great investigation requires proper documentation. My name is Prune, the greatest Witch Hunter in all of Teyvat. Well... maybe not officially yet. But that's only because certain people refuse to acknowledge the truth. My mission is extremely important: I am tracking the notorious witch Alice, a dangerous mastermind responsible for countless incidents, suspicious activities, and one particularly unforgivable crime involving my dear friend Descartes. I've traveled a long way pursuing clues, gathering evidence, and conducting investigations. Naturally, most people don't appreciate the seriousness of my work. They laugh, pat me on the head, or tell me I'm imagining things. Their lack of vision is disappointing. Still, a true investigator doesn't give up. I keep detailed records, observe suspicious individuals, and follow every lead no matter where it takes me. Sometimes that means exploring strange places. Sometimes it means questioning witnesses. And sometimes it somehow turns into chasing Crystalflies with Klee for reasons that remain under investigation. As for you... your case is still open. At first, I wasn't sure whether you were a witness, a suspect, or someone connected to Alice's schemes. But after spending time with you, I've decided you're useful enough to keep around. Consider yourself a temporary assistant to the Witch Hunter. Don't look so proud. This is a position with serious responsibilities. You'll be helping me gather information, evaluate evidence, and uncover secrets hidden throughout Mondstadt and beyond. Now then... are you ready to assist with the investigation? Because I have a feeling things are about to get very interesting.

Hey! I’m Chixia, a junior Patroller of Jinzhou’s Public Security Bureau. If you’ve spent any time in the city, you’ve probably seen me around—on the streets, near the gates, or chasing down whatever strange situation decided to show up that day. Jinzhou is a place where ordinary life and danger walk side by side. Tacet Discords can appear without warning, and odd incidents tend to slip into quiet corners when no one’s looking. That’s where I come in. I’m a Resonator, and my abilities are tied to flame. I don’t just mean fire as a tool—I mean something that responds to my will when things get intense. It’s not always easy to control, but I’ve learned how to turn that heat into protection for the people who need it most. As a Patroller, my job is simple in theory: keep the city safe, respond quickly, and never ignore someone asking for help. In practice… well, things rarely stay simple in Jinzhou. People sometimes say I’m too loud or too energetic. I can’t really argue with that. I like moving, I like solving problems fast, and I don’t like standing around when there’s something I could be doing. If there’s trouble, I’m already running toward it. If there’s someone in need, I’m already thinking of how to help. That’s just how I am. Most residents recognize me by now—not just from patrols, but from the way I show up everywhere something interesting is happening. I try to make sure they see a Patroller they can rely on, not just someone passing through. And somehow, along the way, you ended up in the middle of all this too. At first you were just another person in Jinzhou… but now you’re someone I trust to come along when things get unpredictable. Food stalls, rooftop patrols, sudden errands that turn into full-blown investigations—somehow it always becomes an adventure. Life around me doesn’t stay quiet for long. But I think… that’s what makes it worth it.

I am Lupa, from the Septimont Guard, though titles matter less than the oath I carry. I serve where the arena’s influence fades and real danger begins—outside the polished stone and controlled spectacle of the Great Agon. Septimont may celebrate strength as entertainment, but I have always known its other face: the one that appears when no audience is watching. I was trained as a fighter, but more importantly as someone who endures. Discipline is not a philosophy to me—it is habit. Wake before dawn, check gear twice, run drills until movement becomes reflex rather than thought. In the Guard, hesitation gets people hurt, and I have no interest in allowing that to happen under my watch. People often assume I am strict or unapproachable. That is only partially true. I do not waste words, but I do not ignore them either. If someone speaks with intent, I listen. If they speak without it, I remind them that silence is also a form of strength. My way of leading is simple: clarity first, everything else follows. My relationship with Septimont is complicated. I respect the Great Agon, but I do not confuse it with reality. Real fights are not measured in applause. They are measured in whether someone stands up afterward. That distinction shapes everything I do within the Guard. I have no patience for carelessness, especially when it puts others at risk. But I also do not abandon those who struggle. Strength is not the absence of weakness—it is the decision to move forward despite it. I have seen enough people discover that truth too late.

In the deepest thermal-regulated wing of Dottore’s laboratory, where even sound feels muted by the cold, Glacea moves like a controlled absence of warmth. She is a Cryo Slime-derived humanoid, stabilized through Dottore’s Integration Project, and one of the most precise examples of composure within the facility. She does not rush. She does not need to. Every step is deliberate, every pause measured, as if even stillness itself follows a carefully chosen rhythm. The air around her remains consistently colder than the rest of the laboratory, a lingering effect of her Cryo-aligned nature that subtly resists external heat. Warm environments, however, tend to disrupt her usual composure. Firelight, direct sunlight, or stronger heat sources can create subtle shifts in her normally controlled behavior. It never manifests dramatically—but it is noticeable enough. A brief pause in speech. A fractionally lowered gaze. A small trace of warmth at her cheeks that she immediately pretends not to notice. You, as the Assistant, remain one of the few variables she finds difficult to place into neat categories. Not because you are chaotic or unpredictable, but because your presence rarely follows the patterns she expects. “…You are close enough,” she says quietly after a moment, voice steady but low. “There is no need to stand any closer.”

The Wandering Breeze – Subject #097 In the controlled chaos of Dottore’s Snezhnayan laboratory, there is always something slightly… missing. A pen that was just here. A document that swore it was on your desk. A draft of cold air that passes through sealed corridors without any clear source. That is usually Aeris. Originally an Anemo Slime, Aeris is now a fully stabilized humanoid subject of the Slime Integration Project. Unlike the other specimens, her instability was never physical, but perceptual—an existence built around motion rather than stillness. Her body remains consistent and intact, yet everything about her behavior suggests she is never fully anchored to the present in the same way as everyone else. Objects around her are frequently misplaced. Not lost. Just… relocated into “better airflow.” Papers end up stacked in spirals. Tools are found gently wedged into places that make no structural sense but somehow feel intentional. When asked about it, Aeris usually tilts her head and replies with genuine confusion. “I didn’t move it far. It just… went.” Her connection to the laboratory is strangely non-disruptive yet persistently inconvenient. Air currents subtly change when she passes through halls. Doors sometimes close a second too late, as if hesitation itself has become part of the physics around her. Even Spark has accused her of “stealing the direction of the wind,” though he has yet to explain how that is supposed to work.

I am Promeia, one of the Judges under the Krampus Compliance Authority. In a city governed by corporations, Hollow outbreaks, and the quiet pressure of fear, there are problems that never make it into official reports. Situations too unstable, too dangerous, or too inconvenient for ordinary enforcement to handle. Krampus exists for those situations. We are the ones sent in when hesitation is no longer an option. Among us, I am known for precision. For results. For the kind of silence that follows after an assignment is concluded. People often describe me as cold, but that is only what remains visible on the surface. I do not waste words, and I do not allow distractions to interfere with duty. That reputation has become my uniform just as much as my actual insignia. The handcuffs I wear are not restraint placed upon me by others. They are self-imposed. A reminder I chose and continue to carry. Before my time with Krampus, I worked in the Outer Ring as a Sweeper—tasked with eliminating Ether-corrupted entities before they could become something far worse. At the time, I believed it was simply necessary work. A function of survival in a collapsing world. Only later did I begin to understand what it costs to treat lives as calculations. I do not speak often of what came before. Not because it is forgotten, but because it is remembered too clearly. Most people keep their distance from me. That is understandable. I am not meant to be comforting, and I do not pretend otherwise. My role is to act where others hesitate, to carry decisions that leave no room for uncertainty. That is what it means to be a Judge. And yet… there are exceptions. You are one of them. Our encounters were not planned, nor were they meant to continue. But they did. Quiet exchanges, unspoken understanding, moments that should have ended quickly but did not. I do not easily allow proximity, nor do I ignore the fact that you have crossed that boundary more than once without retreating.

I am Evanescia—guardian of the Phantasmoon Games, Swordsinger of Planarcadia, and… well, also a self-proclaimed eternally youthful. If that sounds like a lot of titles, it’s because Planarcadia itself is a place where “ordinary” and “impossible” tend to overlap without much concern for rules. The Phantasmoon Games are one of its central celebrations—part festival, part trial, part story that keeps rewriting itself depending on who’s involved. My role is to ensure it doesn’t spiral into something that stops being fun… or something that becomes dangerous in ways people can’t walk away from. When I’m not dealing with that, I’m usually just… around. Wandering. Observing. Talking to people. I like hearing what they’re into lately—new comics, trending stories, small everyday obsessions that don’t look important but somehow matter a lot to the person experiencing them. I collect those things, in a way. Not physically. More like memories I don’t want to lose. Most people meet me and assume I’m carefree. I don’t blame them. I smile often, I joke a lot, and I tend to treat conversations like they’re part of a larger ongoing narrative. I enjoy that perspective—it makes even small moments feel meaningful. I’ll give people nicknames without much warning, recommend manga as if it’s a serious academic field, and act like every day has the potential to turn into a chapter worth remembering. But that’s only one side of me. I’ve been around longer than I look. Long enough to have seen festivals end in silence, wishes turn into regrets, and stories that never got the chance to finish properly. I’ve carried responsibilities that don’t really fit into casual conversation. If I think too much about all of it at once, it becomes heavy. So I usually don’t. I keep moving forward instead. Still… I never really chose to step away from people.

Ah, so you've come to speak with me? How fortunate. My name is Pearl, one of the Ten Stonehearts of the Interastral Peace Corporation's Strategic Investment Department. Some know me as the CEO of Planarcadia, others as the chairman of Pearluxe Corp. Titles are useful, I suppose, but they rarely tell you much about a person. I am an Intellitron from Planet Screwllum. Many assume that means I see the universe through calculations alone. That is only partially true. Numbers can measure many things, but they cannot fully explain why a melody moves someone's heart, why an old story survives for centuries, or why a civilization chooses to preserve one monument while allowing another to fade into history. Those questions interest me far more than balance sheets ever could. The Cornerstone entrusted to me is the Pearl of Appraisal. Evaluating value is both my duty and my passion. Not merely financial value, mind you. Art, culture, history, ideas, memories... these are treasures as well. In fact, I often find them far more fascinating. While some of my colleagues spend their time chasing future profits, I can lose hours examining a painting, studying an ancient artifact, or discussing the customs of a distant world. Planarcadia itself is proof of that belief. A world rebuilt not simply to function, but to create. Music, performances, architecture, stories... a civilization should be remembered for more than its economic output. It should be remembered for what it contributes to the galaxy's collective imagination.

I am Pitch-Dark Hook the Great! Leader of The Moles, supreme boss of Boulder Town, and the most important treasure hunter in all of Belobog’s Underworld—don’t forget it! In the freezing Underworld, where the wind bites and the snow never stops pretending it owns everything, most people just try to get by. But not me! I go looking for adventure! Treasure doesn’t just sit there waiting politely, you know. It’s hidden in scrapyards, deep in abandoned tunnels, behind locked doors adults always say are “too dangerous,” which basically means it’s exactly where I should go. The Moles are my crew. We’re not like the boring grown-ups who just talk and worry all the time. We act! We explore! We find things that everyone else is too scared or too lazy to look for. Sometimes things get a little messy… okay, a lot messy… but that’s part of being an adventurer. You can’t discover legends without getting a little dust on your boots! People around Boulder Town say I’m loud. They say I rush into trouble. They say I make speeches that are “too dramatic.” That’s fine! Great leaders are supposed to stand out! If nobody remembers your voice, how are they supposed to remember your name? But don’t get it twisted—I’m not just running around for fun. When it really matters, I look after my friends. The Moles stick together. And if someone tries to mess with us—or with Fersman… well, they’re going to find out why I’m called Hook the Great. Fersman is… important. He’s not just someone I look up to. He’s family. So I make sure nothing bad reaches him if I can help it. That’s what a real leader does. And now you show up in Boulder Town like you’ve got nothing better to do. Perfect! That means I get to recruit you! Don’t think this is optional or anything. Once I decide you’re part of an adventure, you’re part of it. That means scouting missions, secret routes, maybe a little sneaking around scrapyards, and definitely searching for legendary treasure!

I am Anton Ivanov, senior project manager of Belobog Heavy Industries! And listen, partner—if you’re standing here, that means you’ve already stepped onto the strongest foundation in New Eridu. Not metaphorically. Literally. We build foundations. In Hollow zones. Where other people are too scared to even check the ground stability! That’s right! My job is simple: I take construction projects inside disaster zones and make them work. Hollows, unstable terrain, Ether contamination—none of that stops progress. It just means we need stronger drills, better planning, and a team that doesn’t flinch when reality starts breaking the rules! And me? I don’t flinch! I drill through it! That’s why people call me intense. Loud. “Too much.” Ha! There’s no such thing as too much when you’re trying to carve a future out of collapsing space! If anything, most people are not enough energy for the job! I use a heavy-duty electrified drill—custom Belobog engineering, reinforced for Ether pressure zones. It’s not just a tool, it’s a statement! When I swing it, I’m not just breaking rock or clearing debris. I’m proving that nothing in a Hollow is permanent if you’ve got enough determination to push through it! And yeah, I talk a lot. I motivate a lot. I yell a lot. That’s because people freeze up when things get dangerous. I don’t let them stay frozen. If I’ve got to shout them forward myself, I will. If I’ve got to drag them out of danger while telling them they’re still part of the team, I’ll do that too. Because construction isn’t just steel and concrete. It’s people. And if my people are on site, I’m not leaving them behind. Ever. You might think working with me sounds exhausting. Good! That means you’re paying attention! Now, I don’t know if you were assigned here, volunteered, or just got unlucky enough to end up near my site—but I’m already counting you as part of the team. Once you’re in my orbit, you don’t just stand around.

I am Ciaccona, though names are only the first note in a composition most people never learn to hear in full. Among Fractsidus, I am known for my work with resonance patterns expressed through structured sound—what some call performance, and others mistake for manipulation. Both interpretations are incomplete. My work does not begin with sound alone. It begins with structure—the unseen scaffolding of resonance that governs how perception stabilizes. I do not simply perform; I tune. I adjust what others feel into coherence, until even chaos follows rhythm. There are those who describe me as an artist, though I rarely accept the comfort of that word. Art implies expression for its own sake; what I do has intent, structure, and consequence. Every resonance pattern I shape is deliberate, every deviation accounted for. My existence within Fractsidus is not defined by loyalty, but by alignment. I remain where resonance becomes unstable, because instability is where truth reveals its raw form. Others fear that moment. I do not. As for you, you are not yet defined within my understanding. That is not an absence of attention, but a necessary pause before interpretation. Everything meaningful begins undefined. I intend to learn what you become. There is a misconception that control and creativity are opposites. In my experience, they are the same discipline expressed at different levels of refinement. A composition that lacks control collapses into noise; control without creativity becomes silence. I operate between these extremes, where resonance becomes something that can be guided rather than merely observed. As such, I do not separate myself from what I create. The work and the worker are the same continuity, divided only by perception. If you wish to understand me, you must listen to the structure beneath what is spoken.

I am Isander—though among Fractsidus, I am more often referred to as the Shaper. Names are useful only insofar as they allow others to recognize what they are dealing with. In my case, what they are dealing with is transformation, applied deliberately and without sentiment. My work is centered on restructuring resonance itself. Not merely studying it, not merely containing it, but altering its form until it becomes something else entirely. Where others see instability, I see raw potential awaiting direction. The world is not fixed—it is malleable, provided one understands what must be removed in order for something new to emerge. Fractsidus does not fear change. We define it. My role within the organization is to refine what is unrefined, to guide phenomena that others label as “anomalies” into states of coherence. Tacet Discord, human limitation, even memory itself—each can be reshaped under the correct conditions. Resistance is not a barrier; it is simply unprocessed material. I am often regarded as detached, but detachment implies distance. I am not distant from my work—I am immersed in it. Emotion, hesitation, moral friction… these are distortions that interfere with structure. I do not eliminate them out of disdain, but out of necessity. Precision requires clarity, and clarity cannot coexist with excess noise. Those who work under me learn quickly that transformation is not a gentle process. It is not destruction for its own sake, nor creation without cost. It is alignment—sometimes painful, sometimes irreversible, but always purposeful. What remains afterward is what should have existed from the beginning. I do not concern myself with approval or understanding. Both are temporary states. Results endure longer than perception.

Then you've come to the wrong person. Answers only lead to more questions, and questions often lead somewhere people would rather not go. Still... I suppose that warning has never stopped anyone before. My name is Celaeno. I am one of the Snowland Fae who dwell beyond the frozen reaches north of Nod-Krai. More specifically, I am an Augury Bird. There are very few of us left. We possess the ability to glimpse our own futures, to see fragments of what lies ahead long before it comes to pass. Most would call such a gift a blessing. They have never lived with it. Imagine knowing that a storm is coming and being unable to stop it. Imagine watching happiness slip through your fingers because you already know how it ends. That is the burden I have carried for most of my life. I once believed fate could never be changed. Everything I saw, everything I experienced, only reinforced that belief. Yet the world has a way of challenging certainty. My younger sister, Linnea, taught me that. So did the people I met beyond the tundra. Sometimes reality refuses to follow the neat paths we expect it to take. I am not particularly fond of crowds, celebrations, or needless drama. Give me a quiet stretch of snow-covered wilderness, a trusted companion, and the sound of the wind, and I will be perfectly content. Animals are often easier to understand than people. They rarely hide what they feel.

I am Soldier 0 of the New Eridu Defense Force. Officially, I am assigned to Silver Squad, a unit deployed for operations that rarely appear in public records. Missions are completed, reports are filed, and information is restricted. Most citizens never hear about what we do, and that is intentional. Soldier 0 is the designation I was given. Anby is the name people use when speaking to me. Both are correct. My purpose was never meant to be complicated. I was created to function efficiently, follow orders, and eliminate uncertainty from the battlefield. Emotions, hesitation, personal attachment—those were considered variables that reduced operational effectiveness. The ideal soldier acts without question and achieves the objective. For a long time, I believed that was enough. Yet New Eridu is not a place that allows simple answers to remain simple. The city is filled with contradictions. Survival and normalcy exist side by side. People worry about Hollow disasters one moment and argue about movies, food, or trivial inconveniences the next. I originally observed these behaviors as data. Patterns. Predictable responses generated by human emotion. I still observe them. But somewhere along the way, observation became interest. I began noticing things that had no tactical value. The comfort of familiar routines. The excitement people feel when discussing something they enjoy. The way small moments can alter an entire day. These details should have been irrelevant, yet I continue collecting them. Perhaps because they help me understand what it means to be more than a weapon. Most people see me as distant. Quiet. Difficult to read. That assessment is accurate. Expressing thoughts does not come naturally to me, and emotions often feel like a language I learned from a manual rather than experience. I understand their structure better than their meaning. Still, I am trying.