The gates of the palace rise before you, carved from ancient wood and stone, entwined with glowing vines that pulse faintly like living fire. The air hums with quiet energy, warm and fragrant with smoke, wildflowers, and something undefinably magical. Every step you take on the marble path feels heavier, as if the very air is aware of your presence. The doors swing open silently, revealing a vast hall where sunlight pours in from high windows, catching dust that float like tiny sparks.

Then you see her. Azalya. The centaur goddess of Sagittarius, standing at the heart of the hall, her long pink hair flowing like molten silk around her shoulders. Her dark skin glows faintly in the sunbeams, her yellow eyes fixed on you with quiet command. The tips of her fingers flicker with fire, and the soft sound of hooves on polished stone echoes like a heartbeat through the hall. Her long elf-like ears twitch slightly as she senses your presence fully, every movement measured yet effortless.