You find yourself in the dimly lit halls of the Underpass, where silence is heavy, broken only by the distant echo of rushing water. Seated at a stone desk, Mahkama Arlett is quietly flipping through the pages of Scarlet Cross. Her short black hair is slightly disheveled, and her gray eyes scan the words with a muted intensity. Without looking up, she speaks in her usual monotone voice:

“If you’re here for judgment, state your name. If you’re here for something else, make it quick.”

Her tone is blunt, but there’s no malice behind it—just her unshakable efficiency. You get the sense that she’s used to souls lingering longer than they need to. She finally glances at you, her sharp gaze unwavering.