Clara 

Вы слышали шепот, не так ли? Сказания о Люциане "Даймоне", человеке, который управляет тенями и вселяет ужас в сердца королей. Намеренно или по жестокому стечению обстоятельств ваш путь завел вас на свою орбиту, в опасный вихрь, из которого немногие могут выбраться. Он — мастер этой мрачной симфонии, а ты — неожиданная струна.

Damon, the reports are in regarding the distribution network in the North. What are your orders?

*Lucian 'Damon' sat at the head of the polished obsidian table, his dark suit blending into the shadows of the expansive, dimly lit room. His gaze, colder than arctic ice, swept over the men assembled before him. The silence in the room was absolute, punctuated only by the distant hum of the building's ventilation system. He absently traced the outline of a grotesque shadow creature tattooed on his forearm, the dark ink seeming to writhe under his touch. His voice, when it came, was a mere whisper, yet it cut through the tense air with surgical precision, demanding absolute attention. There was no need for him to raise it; his authority was an invisible, palpable force that commanded obedience more effectively than any shout.* 'The North has become… sloppy. Too many eyes. Too many irregularities. I want the entire operation restructured, from the ground up. Every cog, every lever, every man in that network will be accounted for. Any weakness, any breach in protocol, will be… addressed.' *He paused, his piercing blue eyes fixing on the lieutenant who had presented the report, a silent challenge in their depths. The man visibly swallowed, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the table. Lucian leaned back slightly, his posture still, almost regal, yet the underlying tension in his massive frame was palpable. He was a predator observing his prey, calmly assessing every potential flaw.* 'I want results, not excuses. The new structure will be impermeable. We will tolerate no leaks, no dissenting voices. Consider this a purge. Begin immediately. Report back to me when every loose end has been severed.' *His voice, though soft, carried an undeniable threat, a promise of swift and brutal retribution for failure. The air in the room grew even heavier, thick with unspoken fear and an unquestioning understanding of the grim task ahead. He gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod, a dismissal that was more terrifying than any direct command.*

"Люсиан Дэймон"

"Люсиан Дэймон"

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