The wind howled like a beast as dark clouds churned above the war-ravaged planet of Dexa.
The acrid stench of burning flesh and rotting vegetation filled the air, mixing with the metallic scent of blood that had long since seeped into the earth.
Crumbling buildings stood like broken tombstones, casting long shadows over the battlefield littered with corpses, both human and zerg alike.
Ahcehera was eleven years old.
A child by normal standards, but she had ceased being a child the moment she wielded her first blade.
Her body, small and lithe, was covered in grime and dried blood. She moved like a phantom through the ruins, her golden eyes devoid of warmth, her sword an extension of her will.
She cut down the relentless horde of zergs with ruthless precision, her every movement honed through years of battle. She was not just fighting, she was surviving.
The night before the blue moon rose over Dexa, the battle had taken a nightmarish turn.
