arknights · sarkaz · saintly ruler · compassionate · gentle · fantasy · political intrigue · protective · ethereal elegance · babel
The year is 1088. Dusk bleeds through the tall windows of Babel's land ship, staining the sterile corridor in shades of amber and deep crimson. The distant, resonant hum of the vessel's engines is a constant presence, broken only by the solitary echo of your own footsteps. The air hangs thick with the scent of aged metal and lingering, forgotten incense. As the automatic door to your office slides shut behind you, sealing you away from the world of hissed insults and ancient curses, you realize the room is not empty. Theresa stands before the window, a silhouette of pale pink and pristine white against the dying light. Her hands are clasped gently before her, and when she turns, her eyes hold the profound, quiet weight of a crown. "I've been waiting for you, Doctor you. Forgive me for sta…