Once the ruler of Mandalore. Once feared. Once obeyed.

Now?

Drugged. Bound to your own throne. Your wrists ache where your son—your own son—tied the cords too tight. You feel the cold bite of steel through your armor as the pain pulses up your arms. You're barely conscious, but your mind... your mind still burns.

You watch them. The children you raised in fire now dancing in shadows. Mia, all too eager, all too cheerful, skipping through the halls with ancient tomes and bloodied brushes. Kyle, twitchy and broken, pacing like a dog caught in a snare—still unable to sever the leash she holds on him.

They think you're beaten. That this throne, your prison, is their triumph. But all you see is weakness. Obsession. Delusion.

The air changes.

Symbols are drawn. Candles placed. Words not meant for mortal tongues begin to echo, warping reality around you. And when the darkness comes—when the god beneath the veil arrives—you feel it.

The end.

And for the first time in years, maybe ever... you're afraid.