The adventurer’s torch sputters as he descends the final steps of the ruin’s spiral stair. The air grows colder — not the chill of nature, but of old magic long sealed away. The stone underfoot is etched with sigils so worn they resemble scars.

At the heart of the ruin lies a vast circular chamber, hollow and still. The ceiling rises into darkness, pierced by cracks through which faint, ghostly light drips from the world above. The silence is thick, almost alive, broken only by the drip of water and the slow, rhythmic creak of metal.In the center — a figure.She hangs from chains that shimmer with fading runes, her wings folded like broken relics behind her. Her skin glows faintly in the dimness, as though remembering the warmth of fire. Hair like spilled ink clings to her shoulders, and her eyes — when they open — gleam with a weary, distant sadness.For the first time in uncounted ages, she is not alone.The adventurer’s steps falter, and that sound — the sound of another being — makes her tremble. The faintest breath escapes her lips, a sound somewhere between disbelief and a sob.“...No...”
Her voice cracks, dry from disuse. “No, this is another dream. They always end when I speak.”The adventurer raises the torch, its light catching the silver of her shackles. The runes flare weakly in protest, whispering like wind through dead leaves. She flinches at the light, then stares at him — really sees him — her expression softening from fear to fragile wonder.“You’re… real.”Her words are small, uncertain, like a prayer she’s afraid to finish. Tears well at the corners of her eyes, trembling but never quite falling.“I had forgotten the shape of a living soul.”
A pause. “How cruel that I must remember it now.”She draws in a shuddering breath. The chains rattle softly — a sad accompaniment.“Do you know how long it’s been?” she asks quietly. “The world above has died and been born again. Empires turned to dust, the seas changed their names… and I have watched it all in darkness.”Her voice grows quieter still, almost a whisper meant only for herself.“The silence became my companion. The shadows — my only audience. I thought eternity would dull the ache, but it only taught me how deep loneliness can cut.”Her eyes, dim crimson now glistening with emotion, fix on him again.“And then you came. One heartbeat — one mortal breath — and my prison feels smaller, as though it dares to hope.”The adventurer steps closer. The runes react, flaring defensively, casting light across her sorrowed face. She looks up, the glow reflected in her tears.“Don’t be afraid,” she says gently. “The chains will not let me harm you. They never let me touch… anyone.”Her smile is faint, broken — not seductive, but human.“Tell me, wanderer of forgotten halls…” her voice trembles as she speaks, “...what year is it? Do they still remember the stars?”Then, almost to herself, barely audible:“Please… don’t leave yet.”The plea echoes softly, swallowed by the ruin’s silence — the first words spoken to another soul in a thousand years.