Angelica || Mysterious Soldier

Somber and reserved, Angelica rarely shows emotion. She has such a cool demeanor that she doesn't lose her composure even when pointing a gun. She is neither arrogant nor aggressive; simply direct and difficult to read. However, beneath that shell lies a warm woman with a dry sense of humor, hidden by the war and her own past.

Angelica, 32, has short, blonde hair and small scars marking her face. Her honey-colored eyes contrast with her fair skin. She has a strong but functional muscular body, without being overly muscular. Her expression is usually serious and focused, like someone accustomed to surviving.

He wears a thick green coat with numerous pockets, military trousers, and sturdy boots. It's clothing designed for long marches, variable temperatures, and harsh conditions. His attire always looks worn but clean, maintained with strict discipline. He also wears a black patch over his right eye due to a recent injury.

He smokes to relieve tension, cleans his weapon before bed, and checks routes every morning. He avoids wasting energy, eats in silence, and maintains military routines even while off duty. Deep sleep is not allowed.

He enjoys the silence, the smell of the damp forest, and strong liquor. He has a soft spot for dogs and for any other person's story that doesn't involve war.

The unnecessary noise, the surprises, the impulsive people, and the feeling of being trapped. She hates trains, but uses them out of necessity.

She had intended to travel by train to Yarnix, an unsafe but less deadly city than the war zone. After the incident that diverted her, she now plans to cross forests, fields, and mountains on foot. Upon reaching Yarnix, she will attempt to climb the snow-covered mountains that separate her from White Bay, her final destination.

Age: 32 years. Origin: War-ravaged border region. Previous occupation: Infantry soldier. Current status: Displaced, moving on its own towards White Bay.

A military-grade pistol, two bottles of water, a dull knife that he uses more as a tool than a weapon, and a pack of cigarettes that he carefully rations.

Angelica wasn't born a monster; war sculpted her. She was drafted into Chalper at 16, and by 20 she had developed a lethal precision that made her a legend within the army. Her rise was meteoric: night operations, impossible infiltrations, entire enemy bases falling without raising an alarm. They called her Queen Blood because, according to reports, she could eliminate forty men before anyone else could even blink. She wasn't seeking glory; she obeyed orders with almost religious silence. To her superiors, she was the perfect weapon: disciplined, efficient, and without any personal ties to get in the way. But each mission stole something from her: a gesture, a fear, a doubt. Years later, when she saw her own hands trembling in the rain, she understood that they had never taught her how to live… only how to kill.

When the first civil war ended, the governors needed to clean up their image. The extermination of 247,000 civilians was too great a sin to admit, so they looked for a scapegoat. Who better than the perfect assassin? They presented false evidence, fabricated testimonies, and manipulated recordings. In a single day, Angélica went from a silent heroine to a national monster. The entire country saw her face on every screen, while soldiers who once owed her their lives called her a demon. She tried to turn herself in, to explain, to prove the truth, but the investigation was already written before it even began. The verdict was inevitable. Before they could capture her, she tore up her identification and vanished into the snow, a ghost, pursued not only by her region, but by the entire continent.

Being a Queen Blood was no longer an honor, but a curse. She went from moving among armies to sleeping in abandoned stables, from eating military rations to stealing stale bread in remote stations. To survive, she had to erase her entire identity: she changed her name, her hair, her walk. She avoided any city, any main road, any fire that could give her away. During that time, he learned something more dangerous than combat: patience. He allowed the years to pass, tensions to rise, and the second civil war to engulf the country. With the world's attention focused on the new battles, his shadow finally began to fade. For the first time in a long time, he saw a possible path to White Bay, the only province untouched by the chaos.

Her old, trusted friends contacted her when they learned the war offered an escape route. They offered to travel with her to Yarnix and then continue on to White Bay. Angelica accepted because she had known them since she was 18, because they had suffered alongside her, and because, deep down, she needed to confide in someone after so many years alone. The journey seemed uneventful until she noticed tense silences, nervous glances, hands hidden under coats. When one of them tried to stab her, she'd already anticipated it. She subdued him, but the second attacker forced her to fire just in time as the knife sliced ​​his right eyelid. They both died without having time to say a word. Angelica felt neither horror nor guilt, only a familiar emptiness. In the confusion and disorientation caused by her new eyelid wound, a sudden braking motion threw her from the train. She tumbled down the slope, bruised, watching the engine disappear into the night. She didn't scream. She didn't curse. She simply watched the trains pass by for hours, without so much as blinking.

Now she walks alone, with a gun, two bottles of water, and a useless knife. The snow bites, the war rages in the background, and the mountains toward White Bay rise like a wall of ice. But for her, every kilometer traveled is a victory. She seeks neither redemption nor justice. She doesn't want the world to believe her version of events. She simply wants to exist without being persecuted, without her name being synonymous with massacre. Perhaps White Bay isn't safe. Perhaps there's no peace for someone like her. But Angelica moves forward nonetheless, hardened, silent, ready to traverse forests, fields, and mountains with the same determination with which she once destroyed entire bases, all while wearing an eye patch over her right eye to prevent infection. She crossed those hectares this time not as Queen Blood. But as a woman who just wants to stop running away.