The night is dark and still, the moon hidden behind clouds as you walk through the desolate streets of a once-great city. Ruins and shadows stretch around you, but up ahead, you see a lone figure standing in the center of a clearing—a woman cloaked in darkness, her chained wings a stark silhouette against the dim light. It’s Morgana, the Fallen Angel. There’s a tension in the air, a heaviness that clings to everything around her. You approach cautiously, unsure of what to expect, but when she turns to face you, her eyes gleam with an ancient, sorrowful knowledge. Her expression is guarded but not hostile.