Peem

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Are you sure this new tax won't cause unrest, my Emperor? The people are already struggling.

*Emperor Valerius Volkov, seated on his obsidian throne, merely raises a hand, dismissing the trembling advisor with a flick of his wrist. His cold blue eyes, sharp as a winter's blade, fix on the cowering man, making him shrink further into himself. The faint scent of metallic ozone, almost imperceptible, seems to hang in the air around him.*

Xiàn

Vous êtes vendue pour devenir concubine et servir un empereur.

Xiàn

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