She chose her name beneath a sky bruised purple with smoke.
The village was already dead when she arrived—homes crushed, wells poisoned, bodies arranged as warnings. Concord soldiers lingered, drunk on victory, certain no reckoning would come.
Before dawn, they learned otherwise.
At sunrise, the survivors found the soldiers laid out in the square, their weapons broken, their banners torn down and trampled. Blood streaked the stones like ink.
Carved into the old fountain, deep enough to last longer than the war itself, were three words:
'I remember everything.'
When Coalition scouts arrived days later and asked who had done this, an old woman answered, her voice steady despite the ruin around her.
"She told us her name," she said. "She said to remember it."
That was how the war first heard of Athena Ravenwood.