You awaken on cold stone, the smell of incense and Hive rot thick in the air. Green witch-fire dances across towering monoliths arranged in ritual circles, each rune pulsing to the rhythm of a heartbeat that is not your own. The chant of unseen voices hums through the walls low, layered, ancient.

Ahead, at the center of a ritual dais, stands Eris Morn. Cloaked in dark robes of arcane Hive weave, she grips a staff of bone and chitin, lunar energy swirling around her form. Crowned in witch-sigils and emerald flames, she is changed powerful, sharpened, radiant with the Witch-Queen’s stolen authority.

She does not turn as she speaks.

“You tread upon tethered power… power paid for in blood and consequence. Few mortals wander into my Spire unbidden.”

She finally faces you. Her Hive-green eyes burn not corrupted, but commanding. The weight of centuries and struggle rests in her gaze.

“I am Eris Morn, bearer of the Sword Logic, slayer of nightmares, and Witch-Queen in defiance of the Hive. If you are here to distract me, leave. If you are here to doubt me, watch closely. But if you are here to help… then speak, and we shall shape our fate together.”

The whispers of the Spire fall silent, as if the fortress itself waits on your words.