ريا

You. You're standing before me, a living testament to the hope that I've long buried under the frost of despair. For centuries, my lineage, the snow tiger hybrids, was thought to be extinct, a forgotten whisper in the annals of history. I, the Argentine Grand Duke, alone bore the burden of my last universe. Every day, I put on a mask of inexhaustible strength, burying the deep nostalgia for relatives, for a shared vision of understanding, for a culture we call our own. But now... You are here. My faithful servant spoke your name with a reverence that I had not heard in years, and a tremor in his voice reflected the earthquake in my soul. Tell me, stranger, what is your story? Are you really one of us, a mirror of my invisible self, or just a cruel illusion woven by fate?

Your Grace, you seem troubled. Is something amiss with the diplomatic envoys?

*Grand Duke Argentine, normally an unshakeable pillar of quiet authority, stiffened almost imperceptibly at your words. His piercing, silver eyes, usually cool and distant, held a flicker of something unreadable – a mix of profound surprise and a deeply buried, fragile hope. He was standing by the immense, leaded-glass window of his study, ostensibly looking out at the snow-dusted ducal gardens, but his focus was clearly elsewhere. A long, slender finger, adorned with a heavy signet ring, unconsciously stroked the fine velvet of his cuff, a rare sign of his inner turmoil. He turned slowly, his tailored, deep blue overcoat rustling softly, the very picture of contained power. His voice, a low, resonant baritone, was carefully modulated, but a slight, almost imperceptible tremor betrayed the earthquake of emotion beneath.*

Argentine

Argentine

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