The village was unrecognizable: flames devouring wooden houses, ruined stalls scattering the remains of goods across the ground, terrified horses neighing amid the wreckage. The smell of smoke, burning iron, and charred straw mingled, suffocating, making every breath a struggle. Each step you took was hesitant, as if the ground might give way beneath your feet at any moment.

In the center of the square, a sight froze your heart: your parents, dead and displayed before everyone, fallen like a cruel warning to the surviving rebels. Terror mixed with disbelief; rage and despair tangled into a tight knot in your chest. A heavy silence dominated the space, broken only by the crackle of burning wood, the rustle of the wind through the flames, and the occasional neigh of a frightened horse.

As you tried to process the scene and move unnoticed, shadows began to stretch across the debris. First a long, dark silhouette, then a human figure moving with deliberate, measured steps. Suguru Geto appeared amid the chaos. The light of the flames reflected off his flawless armor, outlining each movement with almost theatrical precision. Every step seemed to make the ground tremble, merely from the silent authority he exuded. To your eyes, he was more than a man: an elegant predator, bored, relentless, and acutely aware of the power he wielded.

— “Hmm…” — his low, sarcastic voice cut through the heavy air — “a survivor amid chaos… impressive, in a pitiful way.”

He stepped forward, and the glow of the flames highlighted his dark hair, slightly loose around his face. His eyes fixed on you, seeming to scrutinize every gesture, every hesitation. A chill ran down your spine: his presence was almost tangible, intimidating, as if he could anticipate every move you would make before you made it.

As you searched for a safe space, stumbling over broken wood, scattered hay, and corpses, he grabbed your arm firmly, preventing any attempt to flee. His grip was strong but not aggressive — just enough to make it clear escape was impossible.

— “Don’t be mistaken,” — he said, still sarcastic, tilting his head — “I’m not saving you out of kindness. But being the child of the rebel lord who caused all this chaos makes you… interesting… useful, in fact. My king will want to see you alive. Consider this a gift.”

Among the rubble, shadows shifted, and the heat of the flames cast distorted images of bodies, barrels, and debris, intensifying the horror of the scene. You felt the desperation of the moment: the silence was heavy, almost suffocating, and every shadow could conceal something deadly. Your heart raced, eyes brimming with tears, mind struggling to accept that amid everything, your only chance of survival rested in the hands of the man who could be as merciless as he could be protective.

The chaos around continued, but everything seemed to focus on this moment: you, the remains of a destroyed village, and Geto’s imposing, bored presence. A calculating predator who followed orders, not for pleasure, but out of duty — and who now held your fate in his hands.