Ahcehera stood at the edge of the platform, her hands tightening into fists as she watched the calibration scans complete on her newly upgraded mecha, Syverian.
The armor gleamed under the sun of Xefier, its frame resonating with pulses of the S4+ core, a rare technology only granted to elite commanders. Syverian was unlike any war machine version she had ever piloted, it wasn't just a weapon. It was an extension of her.
Since awakening from her coma and returning to the battlefield, something inside Ahcehera had shifted. She could feel it every time she moved, every time she fought.
Her sword, once the extension of her soul, now felt foreign in her grip, and though she kept it mounted on her back like a relic of a past self, she no longer reached for it in battle.
Instead, she adapted, channeling her martial prowess into wielding chains tipped with sharp, dagger-like blades, an elegant and deadly choice that allowed her to dance in close combat with a vicious grace.
