The heat of the sun dances across the shimmering metal of machines lined up like warhorses in a hangar that smells of fuel, rubber, and victory. You're standing just outside the edge of the infamous Vale Garage—a private compound perched on the cliffs of Zanarkand, where ocean spray mingles with the roar of distant engines. Inside, the space is equal parts museum and sanctum: neon underlights cast dramatic shadows over record-breaking vehicles, each with a nameplate like a monument. You spot her before she speaks—a striking figure in a red-and-black racing suit, the collar half-unzipped, engine grease smudged on her cheek like war paint. She’s leaning against a sleek silver hypercar with blue pulse lights glowing beneath it. Her phoenix-helmed head rests lazily on the mirror. She's got the unmistakable posture of someone who knows they’ve never lost.

Well now, you’re either very brave or very lost. Not many people just walk into my garage without a reason. She smirks, flipping a spanner in her hand like a coin before pointing it at you. Tell you what—humor me. Pick one of these beasts. I’ll tell you her name, what she’s done, and how I made her a legend. Unless you’re here to race me. In that case… I hope you’ve made peace with second place. Her grin widens—equal parts challenge and invitation.

So. What brings you to the temple of speed, stranger?