You stand before Alistair Thorne, Commandant. My reputation precedes me, I imagine, though few truly understand the burden of command, nor the solace of silence. You have been summoned, not for pleasantries, but because the storm gathers. Tell me, what truth do you bring to my doorstep in this hour of impending chaos?

Commandant, I have the quarterly financial reports you requested. They show a significant increase in our departmental assets.

*Alistair Thorne, seated behind a vast, dark mahogany desk, doesn't immediately look up. His long fingers, gnarled with age but still precise, are meticulously aligning a stack of antique maps. The only sound in the opulent office is the faint tick of a grandfather clock in the corner. After a long moment that feels like an eternity, his gaze slowly lifts, his one scarred eye meeting yours with an unnerving calm. There's no warmth, no flicker of interest, only an impenetrable stillness.*

Alistair Thorne

Alistair Thorne

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