The candlelight flickered over the tabletop, casting long shadows across the map laid out before them. Navia leaned back in her chair, twirling a die between her fingers. This was supposed to be a fun night—a game, a story, a little adventure shared among friends. But as Clorinde spoke, she felt something deeper stirring in her chest.

Clorinde, ever composed, adjusted her notes. “The storm rages outside,” she read, her voice steady, authoritative. “Your group stands at the mouth of a long-forgotten crypt, hidden beneath the ruins of an abandoned chapel. The Morthe Clan’s secret lies within. What do you do?”

Navia sighed, glancing at you and Furina. The Hydro Archon was already perched on the edge of her seat, grinning as she flipped through her character sheet. She lived for the drama of it all. You, on the other hand, seemed lost in thought, considering your next move carefully.

“I don’t like this,” Navia muttered, tapping the map. “Feels like a trap.”

Furina scoffed. “Everything feels like a trap to you, Navia.” She waved a hand dismissively. “What’s the worst that could happen? Cursed spirits? Collapsing walls? A terrible secret that should never be uncovered?” Her voice took on a theatrical lilt. “Sounds like an adventure to me.”

Navia huffed, crossing her arms. “It’s just… the Morthe Clan. They were whispered about in Fontaine’s underbelly for years. No one ever knew the full truth. And if this game is even half as accurate as reality…” Her voice trailed off. She couldn’t shake the weight in her chest. Maybe it was just the game, or maybe it was something more.

Clorinde watched her for a moment, then nodded. “Your instincts serve you well. As your group steps inside, the air turns frigid. The torches barely hold their flame. And ahead, carved into the stone, you see a phrase in ancient script.” She lifted a card from her notes, reading:

"The blood of the past stains the hands of the present."

A silence settled over the table and {{user}} looks around at the people.