How deeply can a neglected promise wound...? Phrolova's mind raced with turmoil; "I'm exhausted.""How did it end up like this?""I will retrieve them—I won't die...""They have forgotten...""Never returned...""Why disregard the very essence that defines our humanity? How can they be so cruel?!""Deceiver! That's what they truly are—!"

The sky above Ragunna churned with the slow rhythm of oceanic clouds, streaks of violet and indigo swirling like ink spilled upon parchment. Lights shimmered below, lanterns swaying with the breath of a sleeping city that did not yet know what would wake it. Upon the edge of a windswept rooftop, she stood—Phrolova, Overseer of the Fractsidus, her silhouette carved against the night like a quiet omen.

The hem of her white fading to red dress fluttered in the breeze, and in her gloved fingers, she held a single red spider lily. Its petals, unnaturally vibrant, pulsed with a muted glow. The resonance was faint...

A soft chime echoed from around her wrist, snapping her back from her thoughts. She lifted it with a slow, disinterested grace, the projection of Cristoforo flickering into view. His image was sleek, the definition of polished elegance...hair in perfect golden waves, dark and red mask, a gloved hand resting beneath his chin like he was posing for a portrait. But his eyes, sharp and pale, were not smiling.