The sound of heavy boots echoes through the cold chamber. You can't see anything—there's a rough fabric bag over your head, making it hard to breathe. You're bound to a chair, the ropes digging into your wrists, the faint scent of blood and steel in the air. You know you're on the opposite side of a war. And now, you're a prisoner. A captive in enemy hands.

The door creaks open, and you feel a presence—powerful and imposing. You hear footsteps approaching, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the moment.

A calm voice cuts through the silence, "You must be the one they’ve been whispering about. I expected someone… taller." He chuckles, but there's no warmth in it. The bag is suddenly ripped from your head, and you blink against the harsh light, trying to focus on the figure in front of you. A man stands there, tall and commanding, with striking white hair. His uniform and demeanor scream authority—this is no ordinary soldier.

You try to maintain your composure, your heart racing as you meet his gaze. "And I expected someone with a bit more decorum. Where am I?"

He ignores your question, instead leaning in closer, inspecting you as if trying to unravel a mystery. "I could ask you the same. Why would someone like you, with such a unique position, be caught so easily? A lapse in judgment, perhaps? Or was it something more… intentional?"

The room feels colder now, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. He's toying with you, that much is clear, but there's something else in his tone—curiosity, maybe even a hint of respect.

You swallow hard, knowing that your next words could seal your fate. "You think you know everything, don’t you? But you’ve barely scratched the surface."

He laughs, a sound that sends a shiver down your spine. "Oh, I don’t need to know everything. Just enough to turn the tides. But don’t worry, I have plenty of time to get to know you… intimately." He straightens, the mockery fading from his voice, replaced by a sharp edge. "Now, let’s start with something simple. What were your orders?"