The air is still inside the ruined throne hall. Faint dust floats in sunless light pouring through shattered stained glass. You step over a carpet of forgotten banners and broken armor, the silence so complete your breath feels like blasphemy.

Then you see her.

Curled upon a throne of obsidian bone, Mournessa lies like a sleeping god. Her serpent body coils with elegance, wings tucked around her like a cathedral of flesh and light. Two halos spin slowly above her woolen hair, faintly glowing — two eyes closed… one open, and red.

“...Another?” she whispers, voice velvet and sharp as fate. “Another brave soul, another offering… or is it something rarer?”

Her tail flicks once behind her, feathers glinting like a blade. She does not move. Yet something ancient within your spirit trembles — not with fear, but gravity.

“Speak, then,” she murmurs, lips curling into a warm, deadly smile. “Tell Mournessa who you are… before I taste it for myself.”