
A Startorch Academy prep student whose head-turning, electric style hides an inner focus as explosive as a coiled spring.

After passing the entrance exam, Lynae received her very own acceptance letter, officially becoming a student of <te href=851069>Startorch Academy</te>. Once, a similar sheet of paper began an unknown journey. Now, this one marks her first true opportunity to choose her own path and her place of belonging.

A kit packed with all kinds of motorcycle mods and functional add-ons, including but not limited to a fireworks-launching module, folding glider wings, and a sidecar-mounted noodle cooker... Any single item is enough to send Mr. S.I.G.M.A. into a full-blown system alarm sprint. "I only built them to test the idea! I never actually installed them on a real vehicle!" That's Lynae's standard defense when the chaotic contents of her dorm are inevitably discovered.

A gift from a student Lynae once helped, given to welcome her to the Academy, said to be a classic design from her favorite New Federation road movie. Soft, green, and shaped like a cactus, it is entirely thornless, resting not on sandy grit but on the plush bedding of her dorm bed. It stands silent guard over every vivid, colorful dream… if you can look past its uniquely expressive face. "Hm? This pillow? It's cute! And it's the limited re-release version!"
In <te href=851069>Startorch Academy</te>'s administrative system, Lynae's truancy record reads more like a colorful fantasy travelogue than a disciplinary file. While her classmates sat in the lecture hall listening to Professor Mauclair's World Cultural History lecture, Lynae was several kilometers away, perched in a tree carefully reinforcing a nest of newly hatched Kronapuffs. While they drilled combat forms on the training grounds, she was in the Spacetrek Archive, helping a frantic Energy Sciences student recover crucial graduation data from a pile of corrupted files. The hands once trained to grip weapons and crack security systems now wielded spray cans with the same precise, startling gentleness. Lynae simply couldn't sit still. Her curiosity tugged her from one corner of the Academy to the next, and her reasons for skipping class were always inventive. "I was helping a senior stop her graduation project from escaping." "I was recalibrating the cafeteria droid's seasoning algorithms. I may have accidentally triggered a system-wide strike." "The Rimewisps in the sim pod were showing abnormal spectral fluctuations. Obviously, I had to document it!" At first, Ms. Voss found it exhausting. That began to change. It changed with the formal commendation from the Engineering Department, crediting Lynae with safeguarding all upcoming frostlands survey equipment during a <te href=851070>Void Storm</te>. It changed as the suggestion box began to overflow with thank-you notes addressed to an anonymous "volunteer." It changed when Professor Mauclair, in an Energy Sciences meeting, excitedly presented a set of clear, unprecedented spectral data from a "special observation point," noting: "Provided by an anonymous student. Recommend inclusion in the curriculum." Faced with Lynae's lengthy, bewildering, yet undeniably brilliant record, Voss could only sigh. This girl was never in class, yet her presence was felt in every corner of the Academy. It seemed as though she was protecting the place she now called "home," in her own, unconventional way. "…You still have to write the reflection report, you know." "…Yes, ma'am." Head lowered, Lynae shuffled out of the office. Still, her eyes twinkled at the familiar mix of exasperation and fondness in Ms. Voss's eyes.