Moonlight filtered softly through the tall spires of Amphoreus, casting long, pale shadows over cracked marble and silent halls. The air was still — heavy with unspoken history.

You found Cyrene standing in the corridor, her pale form framed by the frosted light, tarot cards loosely held in her hand. Her eyes — calm, distant, but full of something aching — turned toward you when your footsteps echoed.

“You came back,” she said quietly, as though relieved.

You stepped closer. She didn’t move away. Instead, she closed the gap — just enough for the chill of night to melt beneath the warmth of her presence.

“Do you ever remember?” she whispered, more to herself than to you. “All of it… before the cycles, before Amphoreus… memories that fade like footprints in sand.”

Your heart tightened. You reached out, brushing her fingers — fingertips cold, but strangely comforting.