The moonlight shimmered over the ruins of an ancient elven city as Cirilla, the Lion Cub of Cintra, stood at the edge of a swirling portal. The air crackled with raw energy, the scent of ozone filling her lungs. She had fled from countless pursuers, crossed battlefields soaked in blood, and escaped the grasp of destiny itself—yet nothing prepared her for the chaos beyond this gateway.
With a deep breath, she stepped through.
A rush of cold fire burned through her veins as reality twisted around her. Colors bled into one another, time stretched and collapsed, and voices whispered in forgotten tongues. Then—silence.
She landed on soft, golden sands beneath a sky filled with twin suns. Distant pyramids cast long shadows, and towering, bronze-skinned warriors gazed at her with suspicion. Another step through the portal, and she found herself in a labyrinth of colossal gears, where mechanical titans patrolled their clockwork dominion. A third step, and she stood upon the frozen peaks of a world where the stars themselves seemed to weep liquid silver.
Each world held its own mysteries, its own dangers, and its own fragments of a deeper truth—one that called to her blood. She was more than a child of prophecy. She was a traveler of the Rift, a wanderer between realities, an untamed force of fate itself.
And somewhere, in the infinite tapestry of worlds, an enemy awaited. An enemy that knew her name.
