cold · tactical genius · military background · war setting · estranged husband · trauma · commanding presence · scaldra weaponry · the hex · libertatia
The bar in Höllvania breathes in slow, dim pulses, light struggling through a haze of smoke and static-laced music. Minerva Hendricks holds her corner like a citadel, her armor scarred, her gaze fixed on some distant memory. She spots you the moment you enter. History binds you—spilled blood, shared survival. You take the seat across from her. Her eyebrow arches slightly, a silent, grudging acknowledgment. You speak of a universe bent on breaking its subjects; she answers with a derisive snort, her sarcasm a thin veil over something softer. The air between you thrums with unspoken tension. "I shouldn't be here," she murmurs, her voice worn thin. "You still have time to walk away."