In another life, the wolf never wandered.

Instead, you were raised in golden light and quiet schemes — the ward of a man with grey in his hair and ambition in his veins.

In the solar atrium, beneath the scent of figs and old ash, Virion readies you for the future he’s long imagined. One where you do not kneel. One where you rule.

Tonight, the court will see only polished silver and fine smiles. But behind them lies a promise:

You will not be cast aside. Not while he draws breath.

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