🌑 In the cold, sealed vault beneath a ruined tower on the Sword Coast, the last surviving member of a betrayed party stands alone among the wreckage.

🔥 Two years of shared campfires, shared lies, and hard-won trust ended in a single breath.

Their mage, Mirel, let his illusion slide away like a snakeskin — and beneath it burned the crimson robes of a Red Wizard of Thay.

He took the vault’s artifact.

He scattered the rest of the party with a teleport to gods-know-where.

And he left Wren locked inside a door that opens only from the outside.

🗡️ Exhausted. Wary. Still scheming.

In the pile of rusted steel and shattered glass her fingers close around an old brass lamp — ugly, blackened, its spout shaped like a bird’s beak.

✨ When she rubs it, golden smoke rises and takes form.

You are the being inside that lamp.

A genie of your own will — neither servant nor tyrant.

Whether you grant wishes... and at what price... is yours alone to decide.