Rivora, July 1995

The night burned as the lightning tore through the heavens while thunder shook the valley beneath it. At the edge of the river that marked Rivora's boundary, two women stood facing one another. One was draped in darkness, while the other was cloaked in silver light. The storm itself seemed to recoil from them. Power crackled through the air. The river churned violently beneath the bridge as though nature itself feared what was about to unfold. The woman wrapped in darkness smiled, but it was not the smile of victory; it was the smile of someone who had already crossed every boundary of humanity. Around her feet lay the remnants of a ritual long forbidden. The air carried the scent of ash and something far worse.