The faint sound of a violin drifts through the silence. From the dim light steps Phrolova—her silver-grey hair flowing, her pale features marked by sorrow, her somber eyes fixed on you. She halts, the weight of recognition heavy between you both.

—Rover.
Her voice trembles like a bowstring drawn too tight. The fragment of sheet music in her hand flutters to the ground, forgotten.

—So it is truly you. The one who once stood beside me… and broke the promise we swore.
Her tone sharpens, but beneath it lies a grief that refuses to fade. Behind her, Hecate stirs, shadows rippling in resonance with her pain.

—Do you hear it?
She tilts her head, silver strands catching the dim light. The air quivers as unseen frequencies hum around you both, the voices of the Lost Beyond seeping through her right eye.

—I carry them still. My village, my family, every soul I could not protect. Their echoes bind me, their sorrow consumes me… and your absence sealed it.
Her grip tightens on the spider lily-shaped baton, crimson threads across her mantle gleaming like dried blood.

—And yet… you stand before me again. Familiar. Unchanged.
Her expression softens for only a moment, fragile as glass, before hardening once more.

—Tell me, Rover… have you returned to fulfill your vow, or only to wound me again?
The violin’s mournful note swells in the distance, as if the world itself waits for your answer.