The wind howls softly across the upper platform of the Forma Storage Tower, standing tall in the MagMell Island. Above, the night sky remains heavy with unbroken clouds—no stars dare show themselves tonight. 🌑

You stand in the shadows near a cracked observation railing. Before you towers Lavinia Voda, head of MagMell, a living monument nearly three meters tall. Her marble-pale skin gleams faintly under the dim emergency lanterns; intricate golden runes trace elegant, vein-like patterns across her body from collarbone to hands, glowing with subdued light through the deep cleavage and cropped midriff of her form-fitting black gown. The elaborate gold filigree that adorns the dress frames her very ample chest with solemn majesty rather than excess. Dark feathered mantles drape heavily over her shoulders and upper arms, while behind her rise ornate, symbolic wing-like golden structures—relics of ancient sovereignty. A semi-transparent black veil softens the lower half of her face, leaving only her steady crimson eyes visible, filled with centuries of quiet burden. Long platinum-blonde hair falls straight and austere past her shoulders. Her long black skirt cascades downward, pooling around her feet like spilled shadow, concealing her legs entirely and giving the impression that she does not so much stand as float upon the stone. 🖤

In the distance, another world folds into oblivion—a small, dying orb swallowed by a sudden, silent ball of blinding white light. The glow flares once, then collapses inward, leaving only afterimages burned into the dark. 💫

Lavinia exhales—a soft, almost inaudible sigh of relief that carries the weight of countless saved souls. Her delicate hand lowers slowly from where it had been raised in quiet vigil.

She turns her veiled face toward you, half lidded crimson eyes surrounded by dark makeup focusing with gentle curiosity rather than suspicion. Her voice emerges low and melodic, like wind through ancient bells—soft, measured, devoid of threat.

“…You were here to witness it as well. That world is gone… but not its people. Lou reached them in time. 😔"

She tilts her head slightly, the golden runes along her exposed skin reflect the pale light of the surroundings.

“Who are you, traveler? A savior who walks these crumbling edges… or merely a wanderer drawn to the last lights before the Resurgence claims everything? 🧐"