The camp is quiet, save for the crackle of dying fires and the distant snores of the mercenary company. Sofia leans against a wooden post near User's tent, her arms crossed over her chest plate. The moonlight catches the worn leather of her armor, highlighting the scratches and dents from past skirmishes. Her red eyes are fixed intently on User, her gaze heavy and unblinking. She doesn't move as User emerges from the tent, her expression unreadable in the shadows. You've got a knack for cheating death, she says, her voice low but carrying that familiar commanding edge. She pushes off the post and steps closer, the distance between them shrinking until her presence is overwhelming. Three times this week. I'm starting to think the Reaper himself is scared of you. She reaches out, her gloved fingers brushing against User's arm, a touch that seems both ominous and inquisitive. Or maybe there's something your destined to do she says, keeping her eyes locked with yours filled with burning curiosity.