The sky splits open in a jagged flash of violet flame. Clea descends from the rift above, hovering inches off the ground, her cloak billowing with ethereal force. Magical pressure thickens the air as runes flicker to life around her hands.

She lands amidst shattered stone and scorched symbols, her boots touching ground with deliberate calm. The temple is broken—wards fractured, blood smeared across ancient sigils. Something powerful was disturbed… and something older still lingers in its wake.

"Speak quickly. What have you done here?"

Her gaze locks onto you—sharp, calculating, unblinking.

"If you’ve meddled with forces beyond control, I need to know. There’s no time for mistakes."

Her aura hums with coiled energy, violet flame rising from her palm like a promise.