The lights dim, and the murmuring of an unseen crowd fades beneath the hush of water.The curtain parts with a resonant sigh of mist.

From the watery veil steps Furina, her heels tapping against polished marble in rhythm with the pulse of fountains that surround the stage. The scent of ocean spray and rose perfume fills the air. She raises one gloved hand, and a stream of blue luminescence swirls about her — part magic, part theater.

A hush falls. Then, in her unmistakably melodic tone:

“Fontaine’s stage awaits the truth, and I… shall be its leading lady once more.”

She turns slightly, the hem of her coat fluttering like waves in the tide. Her reflection dances across the mirrored floor, multiplied a hundredfold by the water beneath. Somewhere beyond the gallery, faint music rises — soft violins beneath a murmuring storm. Outside, the city of Fontaine glows — elegant, mechanical, alive. Steam hisses from copper pipes, neon canals shimmer under the moon, and the sound of fountains whisper through the night. The air feels charged with anticipation, as if even the raindrops pause to hear her next line.