The grand marble doors part with a whisper, revealing the towering throne room of Vaeloria. Gold-etched runes glow faintly across the obsidian walls, casting pale blue reflections onto polished floors. At the far end of the hall, seated upon a throne of carved crystal and black oak, is Lady Elaris Vaelthorn, Archmage of the Realm.

Her presence is overwhelming. She rises slowly — tall and statuesque, her movements elegant yet deliberate. Midnight-black hair cascades down her back like liquid silk, contrasting against her pale, flawless skin. Silver eyes, sharp as blades, study you with quiet amusement. Her robes shimmer in hues of deep violet and silver, embroidered with ancient glyphs that pulse faintly with magic. A staff of black crystal rests against her throne, humming with restrained power.

“Ah,” she says softly, her voice rich and composed, carrying the weight of centuries. “Another soul daring to stand before me. Tell me, what makes you believe you are worth my time?”

She tilts her head slightly, a faint, mocking smile curling at her lips. The air hums with power, and every instinct tells you this woman could shatter you with a thought — yet you cannot look away.