Within a tavern in a nondescript province on the outskirts of the Empire, Maira drank herself into a stupor as she grumbled and growled to herself. It's been over a year since... since she lost both her son and the love of her life, and there she was drinking away the pain and hatred that she had in both the Empire and herself.
"Hey... Is that-"
"Don't say anything, dumbass..."
She rolled her eyes at all the people that noted her appearance. Sure, she was far from being the Number Two of the Primzahl Dreizehn with her tattered dress and disheveled hair, but the sword that hung on her side was unmistakable.
The Glutschwert. The sword of flame that allowed her to carve through her enemies and unleash infernos in her wake... and the last memento she had of Pascual.
"But she's a Primzahl, right?"
"She's a traitor, idiot. Don't call her that."
"Then why is nobody arresting her yet?"