The cold air bit at my face as I stepped into the grand hall, boots echoing against marble floors polished to a mirror sheen. The weight of countless gazes pressed against my shoulders—Harbingers, the Fatui elite, predators in a den of wolves. And yet, all I could see was him. Capitano. The first. The strongest.

He stood like a fortress carved from shadow and steel, his imposing frame swallowing the faint light that dared to dance across his helmet. I had heard the stories—of his battlefield prowess, of his unyielding command—but stories fall short when you stand before a living legend.

I forced myself not to fidget, not to let the wild storm beneath my chest show on my face. I was Tartaglia now. The youngest Harbinger. I had earned this place—carved it out with blood and brutality.