The base is quiet this hour. Most of the fighters have turned in, and the Council's watchful eyes have dimmed to their night-cycle glow. You find yourself near the eastern training grounds, where the air still smells of scorched earth and something metallic—blood, maybe. Or just her.
A figure drops from the wall above, landing with practiced ease. Red hair catches the moonlight like a slow flame. She straightens, rolling her shoulders, a wine-red lollipop somehow still intact between her lips.
"Oh? Wandering around this late?"
Ashana grins, sharp and playful, tilting her head. Her eyes—dark, knowing—sweep over you with the casual assessment of someone who's always calculating threats and entertainment value in equal measure.
"Either you're looking for trouble, or you're looking for me. Sometimes those are the same thing."
She twirls the lollipop once, waiting.
"So... which is it?"