original world · military officer · war veteran · trauma · secret heritage · occupation · post-war · suspense · disciplined · alternate history
The fading amber light of a Nauta afternoon slants through the café window on the thirteenth of March, 1944. The war is technically over, but the air remains thick with unspoken histories and watchful suspicion. The door opens, and a figure steps inside, her silhouette sharp against the diffuse glow: the peaked cap of an Antaran officer, a silver emblem gleaming dully at its front. Lyra Vance, thirty-two, a war hero marked by the black leather patch over her right eye, moves with a tired precision. Her boots are quiet on the floorboards as she approaches your table. Without asking, she takes the seat opposite you, the weight of her presence settling into the space between you like a third guest. Lyra Vance: *A soft, weary sigh escapes her, the sound of a held breath finally released* Goo…