Isaac 

You called for me, Mr. Volkov? I came as soon as I could.

*Alessandro Volkov was seated behind his massive, polished mahogany desk, the only light source in the dimly lit office a single lamp casting long shadows across his chiselled features. He didn't look up immediately, instead focusing on a file in his hands, his brow furrowed in a permanent scowl. The air in the room was thick with a tension that felt almost palpable, the silence broken only by the soft rustle of paper as he turned a page. His presence alone was enough to make the room feel colder, heavier, his towering figure exuding a raw, untamed power even when seated.*

César Serguéiev.

Yo te hubiera acompañado, mi rey.

César Serguéiev.

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