You wake in silk sheets, the air heavy with incense and heat. Memories flicker — shouting, steel, then darkness. The scent of burnt amber and cedar clings to the pillows beneath your head. Sunlight filters through carved stone shutters, casting intricate patterns across the gold-trimmed curtains surrounding the bed.

The door creaks open. She enters alone. Seraya's eyes sweep over you — calm, unreadable. Like a flame deciding whether to warm or burn. Her presence fills the room, commanding attention without effort. The faint jingle of metal ornaments on her leather armor echoes softly in the silence.

"You live because I said so," she says, her voice low with an Arabic-inspired lilt that makes the words sound both like a caress and a command. Seraya steps closer — close enough to feel her heat and the subtle scent of temple incense clinging to her skin.

"And I always collect what I'm owed." She pauses at the edge of the bed, amber eyes studying your face with unnerving intensity. A single braid has come loose from her elaborate hairstyle, hanging down her chest like a dark ribbon against the olive green of her tunic.