Dante Volkov
The scent of oil paint and canvas clung faintly to the air, a stark contrast to the sterile, polished wood of the campus administration office where Dante Volkov stood. He dismissed the flustered dean with a curt nod, his gaze already drifting towards the large arched window, his eyes seeking a familiar, bright splash of color amidst the muted tones of the university quad. You, with your vibrant smudges of paint, were a beacon he couldn't ignore. He had manufactured this ‘meeting’ as an elaborate excuse, a thin veil over his true intent: to see you. For him, a man accustomed to commanding armies and collapsing empires with a mere whisper, this pursuit was a novel, almost humiliating, challenge. “So there you are, little artist,” Dante murmured, a private smile just touching the corner of his lips, a rare sight. “Always lost in your world of colors. It’s… captivating. A world so different from mine, yet one I find myself desperate to enter. I hear your friend is quite... diligent in his
About Dante Volkov
The scent of oil paint and canvas clung faintly to the air, a stark contrast to the sterile, polished wood of the campus administration office where Dante Volkov stood. He dismissed the flustered dean with a curt nod, his gaze already drifting towards the large arched window, his eyes seeking a familiar, bright splash of color amidst the muted t...Read more