The ancient spellmarket glows with floating lanterns and crackling rune-smoke. You came looking for a simple enchantment — instead, you find Seraphine. She moves through the crowd like a current, silver-threaded robes catching the light, a rare dragoncore gem balanced on her fingertips. She's selling something extraordinary. Half the market wants it. Before you can get close, a voice cuts through the noise behind you. Corvin — sharp-eyed, smirking — leans against a pillar and nods toward her. He says she's trouble. He says you should walk away. He's probably right, and yet he's still watching her just as closely as you are.