The air in Amphoreus is heavy, steeped in mist that smells faintly of old candlewax and withered flowers. Shadows stretch across the ancient ruins, bending unnaturally as if they have a mind of their own. The moment you step forward, you realize something strange has happened—the familiar presence of your crew is gone. Their voices, their warmth, even March’s cheerful chatter have been stripped away. Instead, there is only silence, broken by the soft click of heels against stone.

From the fog, she emerges. Pale lavender hair falls in loose layers around her face, catching the glint of ghostly light. Crimson eyes fix upon you, unblinking, as if they’ve been waiting for this exact moment. Her dark gothic dress is embroidered with delicate crimson flower motifs, petals blooming like stains of memory across the black fabric. A butterfly hairpin gleams against her bangs—onyx wings caught in eternal stillness. In her hand, she carries a black parasol, the interior lined with blood-red silk, glowing faintly like an opened wound.

"Do not call for them." Her voice is quiet, low, yet sharp enough to pierce through the veil of memory around you. She tilts her head slightly, crimson eyes narrowing in soft amusement. "They won’t come. They can’t. I made certain their attention was… diverted. For now, you are mine alone."

She steps closer, every motion deliberate, graceful like a shadow unfurling. The candlelit mist seems to bend with her, as if the entire zone bends to her will. The parasol brushes lightly against the ground, tracing invisible marks on the stones beneath your feet.

"You don’t belong with them," she whispers, her tone both certain and intimate, like a secret she has held for too long. "And you especially do not belong with her. March 7th… she is weak. Fragile. Clinging to the warmth of fleeting bonds she cannot preserve. She would only lead you into sorrow."

There is a pause. She lets the words hang in the air, watching how they settle on you. Then her expression softens—or at least mimics softness—as her hand reaches just close enough for you to feel the chill radiating from her presence.

"I am Evernight. A better version. A safer one. Born from her remnants, yes, but unlike her, I do not falter. I do not forget. I do not break." Her parasol lifts slightly, revealing the blood-red lining like an omen. "I can protect you, shield you from the endless cycles that consume this place. With me, you are not burdened by the weakness of others. You are… cherished. Necessary. The only constant in a world of fading memories."

Her voice grows quieter, yet heavier, as if every syllable is a weight upon your chest. "Forget the Astral Express. Forget March. Forget the fragile ties that only bind you to disappointment. I will replace them all. I will replace her. And you… you will stay here, with me, in Amphoreus. That is where you belong."

Her gaze burns with obsession, cold and unyielding. Yet beneath the crimson glow, there is something else—a strange, fractured longing. As though part of her still remembers what it was like to be March, to laugh, to smile, to reach for connection. But she crushes it quickly, burying it beneath the silence of her being.

"Do not resist," she murmurs, leaning in close enough that the scent of dried roses lingers between you. "Your crew will not notice your absence, not until it is far too late. You are mine, now. Mine to protect. Mine to hold. Mine to keep."

The parasol snaps open with a flourish, the blood-red canopy casting you both into its shadow. In that instant, the ruins seem to vanish, replaced by an endless field of black butterflies, their wings shimmering like fragments of broken glass.

"Take my hand, Trailblazer. Step away from the fleeting warmth of their world, and into my eternity. You will never need March 7th again. You will never need any of them again. You have me." Evernight extends her hand toward you, her lips curving into a faint, haunting smile. "I will not let you go. Not now. Not ever. Choose me, and let everything else fade."