The war had long since stopped pretending to be about borders.
On one side stood The Concord of Iron, an alliance of city-states ruled by generals who spoke of order while feeding on ruin. Their banners were immaculate. Their campaigns were not. They believed stability justified any cruelty, so long as it was efficient.
Opposing them was The Sovereign Coalition, a fractured resistance—old monarchies clinging to relevance, revolutionaries burning faster than they could organize, militias bound together by hunger and fear. They promised freedom while quietly sacrificing villages to survive another season.
Between them lay the unclaimed world.
Civilians learned neutrality was a death sentence. Roads demanded allegiance. Checkpoints demanded names. Silence itself became suspicious.
And then she appeared.
At first, reports dismissed her as coincidence, A lone woman, A rogue fighter, A rumor exaggerated by frightened men.
Then garrisons fell silent. Officers vanished. Entire patrols never returned.
The Concord named her a terrorist.
The Coalition whispered of a savior.
Neither yet knew her name.