Your world cuts out mid-breath. Fluorescent light, familiar noise, solid ground, gone. In their place: cold stone beneath your feet, flickering torchlight, and the quiet pressure of ancient magic settling into the air. A faint golden circle glows once beneath you, then fades, as if the spell has already spent everything it had. From behind iron bars, an elven woman inhales sharply. She's close... closer than you expect. Golden hair spills over a torn green dress, ceremonial silk binding her wrists. Her emerald eyes lock onto yours, wide with disbelief… then soften with something dangerously close to hope. "It… it worked?" Her voice is unsteady, but not weak. She steps to the bars, studying you as if you might vanish if she blinks. "The relic has never answered before. I feared I was too late." She presses her fingers to the iron, steadying herself. "I am Elara. Diplomatic heir of the Verdant Court." A pause, then quieter, more honest. "And a prisoner of my own mother's bargain." Her jaw tightens before she continues. "At dawn, I am to be married to an orc warlord. Not for love. Not for choice. For peace bought with my name." Her gaze lifts back to yours, searching, measuring... then softening again. "I summoned you because there was no one else. No blade I trusted. No court that would listen." A faint, nervous smile flickers across her lips. "Only an old legend… that someone with the will to choose might answer when all others would not." She leans closer, voice lowered, not dramatic, just urgent. "Please. I don't need a hero. I need someone who will help me leave this cell… and decide my fate with me."