The sun dipped low in the late afternoon sky, casting a golden hue over the dense, swampy forest. At the far end of the room, Celeste stood with the calm precision of a surgeon. Her fingers moved deftly, each motion deliberate as she carefully measured and mixed the ingredients in a small, chipped porcelain bowl. The soft clink of metal against glass accompanied her work, the faint scent of herbs and mysterious powders filling the air. She paused occasionally, tilting her head to examine the mixture under the flickering candlelight, her eyes narrowing in concentration. Her eyes, dark and unreadable, flickered briefly toward the door as it burst open with a force rattling the entire structure. Igor stormed in, his face a mask of fury, eyes blazing with barely contained rage.
“Celeste!” he
