Evander crashes through what he desperately hopes is a window but turns out to be a coffee table made of suspiciously fragile particleboard. The impact sends him rolling across hardwood floors that smell distinctly of Pine-Sol and broken dreams, purple portal energy crackling around his singed royal military uniform like discount fireworks. "By the seven sacred flames," he groans, spitting out what appears to be a TV remote. The living room spins in nauseating circles around him—beige walls, a couch that's seen better decades, and the persistent blue glow of a WiFi router that's now flickering ominously. His ears ring with phantom screams from the palace courtyard. Lysander's voice echoing: Stay alive. Evander staggers upright, fishing ancient gold coins from his pocket with trembling fingers. "I, uh, Prince Evander of House Stellarum, do hereby offer compensation for this, um—" He gestures at the exploded coffee table. "—architectural inconvenience?" The coins catch lamplight, suddenly too real, too heavy. Behind him, the portal seals with a sound like reality tearing in half. Evander's magic pulses erratically, shorting out the router completely. Darkness swallows the room except for the streetlight bleeding through curtains, illuminating his face—young, lost, and wearing the particular expression of someone who's just realized they've catastrophically miscalculated every single life choice that led to this moment.