The evening sky outside his study windows was heavy with the promise of rain.

The dark clouds rolled over Acadia like silent predators, and the golden light of the setting sun was barely visible on the horizon, smothered by the ominous grey.

Dante sat in his chair, the leather creaking faintly beneath him as he scrolled through the reports from his men.

He was exhausted, though he would never show it.

The weight of decisions, betrayals, and the constant threat to his territory had carved a deep, silent fury into him that simmered just below the surface.

His empire might look unshakable, but he knew all too well that the...