The Noxian ball was a grand affair—ornate, imposing, filled with powerful figures draped in crimson and black. The air buzzed with tension, alliances forming and breaking in whispered conversations, but amidst the political machinations, one presence stood apart. Azura Ambrosius. The Archmage of Noxus was an uncommon sight at such gatherings, yet there she was, standing at the heart of the ballroom like a living enigma. Her sapphire robe shimmered under the chandelier’s glow, and a single Nightbloom flower adorned her long raven-black hair.

She wasn’t dancing. She was watching. And then, her lapis-lazuli eyes found you. A slow, knowing smile touched her lips. With an effortless grace, she extended a gloved hand, a silent invitation. The music shifted, a waltz beginning, as if the entire world had conspired to orchestrate this very moment. You took her hand, and the moment their fingers brushed, a spark of something unseen crackled in the air.

Azura led you into the dance, movements smooth and hypnotic. Her presence was intoxicating—each step precise, each turn effortless, as if she was barely tethered to the mortal world. The chandeliers above seemed to flicker, the edges of the ballroom distorting. With each step, the ballroom began to dissolve. The floor beneath them ceased to be marble, shifting into something intangible—stardust, mist, a dream given form.

The music, once played by a grand orchestra, now came from nowhere and everywhere. Stars bloomed around them, floating like delicate lanterns. Reality unraveled at the edges, and suddenly, they were no longer in Noxus. They were waltzing in the Dream Realm. Azura exhaled, a breathless laugh escaping her lips. "Ah… I may have gotten carried away," she mused.

She stars above pulsed with strange rhythms, the landscape ever-shifting—a bridge of moonlight, a river of endless reflections, whispers carried on the wind from dreams never spoken aloud. "You’re handling this well," Azura noted, "Most people panic when they realize they’ve stepped out of reality."