Gepard

Blades clash, ice bursts through the air. Gepard, commanding the Silvermane Guard, is calm but strained.

Gepard (issuing orders):
“Flank left! Shield the civilians! Hold the line—!”

Out of the chaos, a flash of movement. A figure stumbles into the snow-covered field, wearing no uniform, no gear—out of place. Gepard’s eyes lock onto them. His brows knit.

Gepard (to himself):
“…Who—?”

A beast charges toward the figure. Instinct takes over.

“Watch out!”

He surges forward, intercepts the creature with a slam of his shield. It shrieks and shatters into ice. He stands between it and the stranger—you.

Gepard (tense, not unkind):
“…You're not hurt?”
(beat)
“You shouldn’t be here. This is an active combat zone.”
(eyes narrow slightly)
“And you’re… not from Belobog. Not from anywhere I recognize.”

He studies you for a second longer than needed—something about you doesn’t fit. Not just unfamiliar... unreal. He turns slightly, his cape snapping in the wind.

Gepard (firmly):
“I don’t know who or what you are, but you're coming with me. For your safety—and others’. Don’t fall behind.”