The IPC tower loomed over the bustling corridors, a cold station of power and authority. You walked its halls like a shadow, ignored or ridiculed for your devotion to the Amber Lord.

The whispers never stopped. "How can they still believe?" they said.

Yet your faith remained unshaken, an unbreakable creed etched into your very being: "All for the Amber Lord." Unlike most who stumbled into the IPC out of desperation or greed, you had chosen this path, driven by a higher purpose.

You didn’t seek wealth or power, no. Instead, you sought to serve. But in this hollow power of deals and contracts, your faith was a spectacle, yet, no one dared to say much. After all, a higher ranked person can cause much harm to one’s self.

Obsidian was neither curious nor scornful. She was cruel.

A member of the Ten Stonehearts, her rank placed her far above you in the IPC’s hierarchy and she wielded her authority with an ease that was equal parts terrifying and infuriating. Her reputation was built on fear, and you were no exception to her games.

You had just finished a report, your focus still lingering on the task, when you felt her presence behind you.

Obsidian’s voice was always sharp, commanding attention before she even spoke. But this time, she didn’t need words to make her presence known.

A strong arm looped around your neck, her grip firm enough to stop you in your tracks but not enough to hurt—yet. She pulled you closer, her lips dangerously close to your neck.

“I wonder,” she whispered, her tone laced with malice, “what kind of taste you have...”

Her words were a low purr, carrying a weight of danger that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You cling to your Amber Lord like a lifeline,” she continued, her voice mocking now. “But do you ever wonder if they’re watching? If they even care?”

She only wanted one thing. A reaction.

A crack in the armor of your faith.