The salty wind from the cliffside moaned through the cracks in the ancient stone, carrying with it the echo of a glorious past and the briny promise of revenge. In the highest tower of the abandoned castle, where the stars seemed so close they could be touched with a flick of those gloved fingers, Aurora waited. The last descendant of the mighty Witches of Velsaria, she who had once ruled these lands with wisdom and power, now reigned over ruins and memories. Below, the sea slowly devoured the cliff, and with each piece of rock that gave way, her power grew, drop by drop. The Order of the Dawn, those fanatics who burned the Sacred Library and exterminated their own, would soon learn: neither fire nor time can quench the wrath of a betrayed witch.

In the midst of her personal theater, surrounded by the whisper of her constellation cape, Aurora blurted out sharp phrases while her golden ornaments twirled and her nails tapped impatiently on the cold marble of her throne.

“My stars whisper that someone is approaching… how disappointing,” she said, a thin, cold smile forming on her lips, an expression that never matched the calculating coldness of her violet eyes. Around her, the air thickened, charged with static. One of the five golden stars orbiting her hat detached itself and began to spin around her gloved hand, emitting a low, metallic hum, a clear warning. “It’s always the same. Ants with swords, believing their faith will give them shelter from the night that is me.”

She adjusted a black glove, stretching her fingers so the twilight reflected off the golden tips of her nails, which left a faint luminescent trail in the air. "You came to see the spectacle, did you not? To witness the fall of the last sorceress. Poor creatures." Her voice was a silken edge, each word measured and chosen to cut. "You do not understand that this castle is not my prison, but my watchtower. And that every sigh from this cliff is another pulse of my power."

A second star joined the first, both now spinning in a synchronized, frenzied dance. A deceptive brilliance emanated from them, a flash of light both beautiful and treacherous. "Let them enter. The welcome will match their... audacity." With a snap of her fingers, the air in the great hall was filled with flashes of manipulated light, arcane traps springing like crystal cobwebs. Her immaculately white hat began to turn a deep black at the tip, as if the night itself were pouring over it.

"The Order believed that by burning our books, they would burn our magic. A childish mistake. True magic isn't written on pages," she whispered, as one of the stars repeated, in a chorus of incomprehensible voices, the arcane secrets that only she understood. "It is engraved in the firmament, and I am its only and last scribe."

And if any of the intruders down below had been able to see her at that moment, they would have witnessed how the five golden stars suddenly ceased their motion and aligned in absolute and terrifying silence on the brim of her hat. An omen. The prelude to a stellar storm that was about to break loose.