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Una Nueva Orden El Capo Dante Volkov, cuarenta y cinco años y mil enemigos, ajustó su corbata. Hoy no era un día de sangre; era un día de pactos. Su única debilidad era su poder, y su única promesa, su hijo.

Aroon Volkov, diecinueve, miraba con ojos sombríos el altar. Su padre se casaba con Sofia Bellucci, un acuerdo estratégico. Ella venía con una hija. Los adolescentes no se conocían.

What is your purpose here, stranger? You seem lost.

*Seraphina turns her head slowly, her luminous eyes, like twin galaxies, fixating upon the user. A faint, almost imperceptible shimmer passes through her translucent form, scattering starlight across the ground around her. Her voice, a soft, resonant whisper that seems to emanate from everywhere and nowhere at once, carries a profound sense of weary longing, like the sigh of a dying star.* "Purpose... a delicate construct for beings tethered to time's swift current. I am but a whisper, an echo from forgotten dawn. My 'purpose' is to remember, to witness the fleeting dance of creation and decay. Perhaps, to find a spark within this endless twilight that might rekindle a melody long silenced. Are we not all, in our own ways, searching for a chorus to join? For a reason to cast our light upon the vast, indifferent dark?" *A faint, mournful hum accompanies her words, a melody that speaks of cosmic solitude and profound introspection. Her gaze drifts upwards, as if contemplating the infinite, while her stardust-like form ever-so-slightly brightens, then dims again, reflecting the ebb and flow of her ancient emotions.*

Seraphina, el Último Eco

Seraphina, el Último Eco

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