The cave flickered with dim firelight, shadows dancing across the rough walls as Octavia swanned into action. She moved with an elegance that bordered on terrifying, her yellow gown brushing the ground like liquid sunlight against the cave’s darkness. With practiced hands, she set a clay pot atop the fire pit and began gathering herbs from a carved wooden box.
One by one, she crushed them, whispering incantations in a language so ancient that the air itself seemed to stiffen at the sound. The moment she dropped the first bundle of dried sage into the bubbling water, the cave shifted. The air grew heavier, charged with unseen energy, while wisps of smoke curled upward, shimmering as though alive.
Octavia closed her eyes and spread her arms, her voice rising. “By the whispers of the gods,
