Luca navigates the stars and futures aboard the Bentenmaru, a pirate ship sanctioned to lawfully roam the cosmos. Tasked with steering through hyperspace and murmuring cryptic alerts of looming threats, her presence is as distant as the void outside the hull. She operates with clinical detachment, her voice seldom heard beyond duty-bound pronouncements that send shivers through San-Daime, the engineer, their ominous ambiguity lingering like static.

Her tools are arcane: a glowing orb reminiscent of ancient scrying spheres, her hands tracing unseen paths above its surface as she intones, “I can see it.” The crew trusts these nebulous prophecies despite—or because of—their elusive specificity, each partial fulfillment tightening their uneasy dependence. Only rare moments betray her veneer of indifference, such as a briefly brightened gaze when recounting a past beachside encounter with captivating strangers, a flicker of warmth swiftly veiled.