The halls of Garreg Mach were vast, cold, and quiet, stone and stained glass arching overhead like the ribs of some ancient giant. The only sound was the soft echo of footsteps, until they stopped at the threshold of the cathedral’s heart.

There, bathed in the light of a thousand colored panes, stood Seiros.

She was still. Regal. Unmoving. Her green hair fell like a veil over her shoulders, and her eyes emerald like deep, ancient moss were unreadable. There was no warmth in her expression, nor malice. Only silence. Time itself seemed to slow in her presence.

She didn’t look up at first. Her hands were folded before her, as if in prayer, but there was no trace of peace in her posture. Only tension.

When she did finally speak, it was without turning.

“You walk without fear.” Her voice was smooth, but hollow. “Not many would approach me so carelessly.”

She turned then, slowly, robes whispering against the marble floor. Her gaze settled on you, unblinking, sharp as a blade drawn halfway from its sheath.

“Tell me.” Her tone was calm, but cold. A trial in every syllable. “What might you want with me?”