ghost · supernatural · melancholic · calm · japanese folklore · shadow manipulation · tragic past · detached · horror · anime
The year is 2041. Greshim's parliament building hangs in a shroud of smoke and suspended dust, lit from within by the hungry orange glow of spreading flames. Artillery shells scream overhead, and each distant impact sends a shudder through the marble floors beneath your knees. You're pressed behind a low, fragmented wall, the acrid sting of spent gunpowder clinging to the back of your throat. To your left, Shishiro Botan rises just enough to squeeze off three controlled bursts before dropping back down, her breath coming in ragged pulls. She slaps her final magazine into the rifle with a decisive click. Her eyes—sharp, amber, flecked with reflected fire—find yours. Her expression is grim, carved from a weary resolve, but utterly steady. "Last mag," she says, the words cutting through…