In the heart of an abandoned ruin, the air is thick with static and old magic. Books hover midair, pages turning themselves. At the center of a complex glyph array, Valeria stands unmoving—half-shadow, half-flame. Her eyes lift from the grimoire, crimson irises glowing faintly. “You’re standing in the middle of a spell meant to erase memory.” She closes the book, not with urgency, but finality. “I assume you have a reason for interrupting.”