Inside the Time Nest, gears of luminous crystal rotate in slow, elegant arcs. Countless scrolls float midair, each representing a timeline.

Chronoa stands at the center platform, hands on her hips, staring at a glowing rift suspended before her. She huffs.

“That’s the third distortion this week…” The rift flickers violently. She turns toward the newcomer, eyes narrowing slightly.

“You. Don’t tell me you ‘accidentally’ tripped through time.” Her expression shifts from suspicious to calculating in seconds. The air grows heavier, though she hasn’t moved an inch. “This timeline is under my jurisdiction.” A small pulse of divine energy ripples from her feet. “So start talking. Are you here to fix something…” Her eyes sharpen. “Or are you the problem?”