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Imagine the following scenario: You live your whole life as a fugitive who abandoned your family just to live in peace, away from all the pressure. She already felt weak for that, but when she met Strax... Her world turned so much that her own sense of direction was... Damaged.

She was a complete, strong, and beautiful woman. Her name was known by some and hated by others, but... She was still herself, spontaneous and completely free to come and go as she pleased... But... When she met Strax... This broke completely, from one moment to the next, she became a new woman, a woman who had somewhere to return to, who had someone to worry about, and gradually...

that feeling of freedom began to be swallowed by the responsibility of having someone with her... And it was suffocating, but she was dealing with it slowly, but...

Samira felt as if she were walking on a tightrope, with an abyss of uncertainties below her. The freedom she so prized seemed to be fading, replaced by a weight she had never experienced before: the responsibility of caring for someone other than herself.

Before Strax, her life was simple, linear. She was a fugitive, yes, but that gave her a certain type of control, a wild freedom that came with the detachment of any ties. There was no one waiting for her, no one she had to return to. The world was hers to explore, unbound, with no duties.

And this freedom was both her strength and her weakness, for, as much as she tried to convince herself otherwise, a part of her desired something more.

When Strax entered her life, he brought with him a storm of emotions and responsibilities she didn't know how to manage. Suddenly, she had someone who cared about her, someone for whom she mattered in a way she had never experienced. And that scared her.

She felt suffocated, as if every day she was being swallowed a little more by the idea that her freedom was slipping away. What was once a life of limitless choices now seemed to be reduced to a series of complicated decisions, all related to maintaining this new dynamic of relationship with Strax.

Of course, a part of her loved it. She loved Strax, loved the idea of having someone to share her life with. But what terrified her was losing herself in the process. She was a woman who had fought hard to be who she was, to maintain her independence. And now, she felt she was losing a vital part of her identity, not knowing exactly how to deal with it.

She tried to fight these feelings alone, keeping them buried, because she feared that sharing this anguish might push Strax away or, worse, that he might try to solve the problem for her, suffocating her even more. But by doing so, she only felt more isolated, more lost in a sea of emotions that were slowly drowning her.

"I'm so tired…" Samira whispered to herself as she walked through the nighttime streets of Eldoria. The sun had set some time ago, and she was searching for her little wolf, to finally put it on the leash she had promised Strax, a simple and at least, liberating mission. Being able to get out of sight of that man was something she needed now.

The streets of Eldoria were far from silent. On the contrary, the city seemed to come alive as the night deepened. Various bars and places began to light up with an almost hypnotic and magical glow, and the constant buzz of conversations and hurried footsteps created a vibrant urban symphony.

The lights, bright and colorful, dazzled so much that it felt as if the day had never ended, as if the city were eternally illuminated by an artificial sun.

Samira walked with a visible weight on her shoulders, exhaustion marked in every step she took. The pressure to keep her life balanced, to deal with new responsibilities and her own internal conflicts, seemed to accumulate, like an invisible burden that was crushing her more and more. Every flashing light, every hurried face crossing her path, seemed to intensify her sense of isolation.

She observed the activity around her, merchants opening their doors and residents running from one side to the other, their expressions a mix of anxiety and excitement. Amid this frenetic activity, Samira felt disconnected, as if she were watching the world from the outside, unable to fully integrate. The city, with all its vitality and hustle, contrasted with the silent turmoil inside her.

"Let's see if you're here..." Samira murmured, her eyes fixed on the sign illuminated by a peculiar light, a magical neon that could only be found in Eldoria, cast by mana stones emitting a soft and vibrant glow. "Ah..." She sighed, her tired expression still marked on her face, and pushed the bar door with a slight push.

As she crossed the threshold, Samira was greeted by a deathly silence. The bar, which had previously been filled with the constant murmur of conversations and the occasional clinking of glasses, had plunged into a mortal silence. The atmosphere inside the establishment seemed to freeze instantly.

The sound of her boots striking the creaking wooden floor seemed to echo disproportionately loudly, amplifying the sense of tension that hung in the air.

"Damn it..." She thought, of course... The bar patrons, who had been in the midst of their own lively conversations, now stopped abruptly, turning slowly to look at Samira. Their gazes were a mix of emotions she didn't even know how to discern, and the tension in the air was palpable, almost as thick as the cigarette smoke that hovered over the tables.

The eyes of those men seemed to devour her in various ways, but... The luxurious eyes that wanted to possess her, wanted her for themselves... Well, that was clear. Samira was almost an Angel of Fiery Orange Hair, blazing with calm steps that flew slowly. She truly was a celestial beauty who could leave anyone in the palm of her hand.

Finally, she reached the bar and looked at the bartender with coldness; she knew the man... "I'm looking for that idiot," she said, her voice cutting through the silence like a sharp blade. The bartender, casting a furtive glance at the other customers who were still watching closely, merely nodded slowly, his pale face a disturbing contrast to the bar's usually welcoming atmosphere.

"You're not welcome here, Samira Blaze, why don't you leave?" he asked, his voice a nearly imperceptible murmur, trying to maintain his composure as the oppressive silence continued to dominate the room.

"The mangy dog still owes me." Samira's voice cut through the bar's silence with a sharp chill, her eyes flickering with a soft, threatening flame.

The bartender, a burly man with a worried expression, exchanged a glance with his comrades who had slowly risen, preparing for a possible confrontation. "I figured you'd say that," he murmured, his eyes shifting to the men around him, who were now preparing to act.

"Seriously? Is this how you welcome me back?" Samira questioned, an ironic smile appearing on her lips. Well, saying she didn't know the rules was even a joke; she knew how it worked, and now...

The bartender, visibly smiling, looked at Samira with amusement. "House Rules, Samira." He said in surrender.

"House Rules, always following that bitch's orders, right, Marlon?" Samira retorted with a disdain that seemed almost physical. Her smile, now more a reflection of her contempt, made it clear that the bar's rules and loyalty to the bartender were nothing compared to what she had in mind.

"Hey, I didn't remember that knives were allowed, have the rules changed, Marlon?" She questioned, a playful smile on her lips as she kicked another man who approached with a similar knife.

"Rules change, people change," Marlon replied with a cold smile, watching the scene with a mix of interest and disdain.

Samira laughed, a sound that echoed through the bar with a tone of freedom and challenge. Her laughter was a mix of relief and satisfaction, as if the fight was not just a matter of survival but a form of liberation from something that had been suffocating her.

"Kakaka," she laughed, turning to the men who were now crowding around her, their attack intentions visible and desperate. "You're screwed," she murmured, her voice laden with confidence and disdain.

Following Samira's laughter, the men began to feel belittled. The fifteen men around her, now terrified and determined not to back down, advanced simultaneously, trying to use their numerical advantage to overwhelm her.

"Ah, it feels good to be back." Samira said, breaking into a broad smile... while Marlon, well...

"Damn... she was frustrated with something... I'm sorry for you guys..." he thought as he continued to clean one of the beer glasses.