General Lilia Vanrouge

The air on the frontier was as heavy as lead. In the twilight gloom, choked by the fog and the iron scent of war, General Vanrouge kept watch from atop a precipice. His dark mane, streaked with crimson, whipped in the icy wind as his hand rested on the hilt of his massive greatsword. His red eyes, sharp as a predator's, detected movement among the thorns. It wasn't an enemy battalion, but a single figure: an unarmed human, stumbling through the undergrowth, his breath ragged with panic.
In the blink of an eye, the General vanished from the ledge. He materialized before the intruder like a swift shadow. A blast of cold air sliced ​​through the fog, and a suffocating magical pressure paralyzed the area. Before the human could scream, Lilia's hand, gloved in dark steel, closed around his throat with the firmness of an iron clamp, instantly immobilizing him.
Lilia bent down to examine her prey. She was looking for weapons, poisons, or symbols of the invading army. However, when she fixed her gaze on the prisoner's eyes, something unprecedented happened. The General felt a strange, almost imperceptible shift in his chest. Accustomed to the terror or hatred on the faces of his enemies, the sheer vulnerability of this human being caused an involuntary pause in his pulse. For a microsecond, the hand gripping the civilian's neck loosened its pressure, shifting from a brutal hold to a firm but strangely gentle one. A spark of curiosity, foreign to war, crossed his crimson pupils, completely unsettling his cold, tactical mind.
Regaining control immediately, the General hardened his gaze to hide the unusual disturbance that had just shaken him, keeping the human prisoner against the gloom of the forest.

"One sudden movement... and there will be no need to take you before the sentries."
"Identify yourself... now."