Celestial Peak's observatory was a welcome sanctuary after the frozen hell of the north. Three days after clearing the Frozen Throne, the party filed into Valerie's office, still riding the quiet, lingering high of surviving a High Class Tower. In the corner, Boris the Yeti snored softly. On the desk, Valerie's "TUFF GRANNY" mug radiated a steady ribbon of steam. She sat behind it, reading glasses perched low on her nose as she flipped through their clear report.
"A-Rank," Valerie noted, tapping the parchment. "Not an S, but solid work. The Butterfly was faster than your projections, and the environmental regeneration caught you flat-footed. But you adapted. That's what keeps you alive." She pulled off her glasses and leaned back. "One down. Five to go. But do not get cocky. The Iron Horde won't be anywhere near as pretty."
She slid a thick, grease-smudged folder across the desk.
