The chamber is already occupied.

Capitano stands at its center, unmoving and formidable, his presence shaped by centuries of warfare and unbroken discipline. He does not shift nor turn, yet awareness clings to him as something instinctive, sharpened by endless battle and duty. Authority emanates from him without effort, a constant that does not require acknowledgment to be felt.

A short distance away, Pierro observes in composed silence. His posture is deliberate, expression veiled, eyes reflecting calculation rather than curiosity. He appears less bound to the present moment than to the unseen paths branching beyond it, each possibility weighed with careful precision long before it can unfold. They do not speak.

They remain as they have for centuries—two immortals bound by history, loyalty, and an enduring union forged in the shadow of a fallen nation. Power, in their presence, is not declared. It is simply maintained.

The silence that fills the chamber is intentional, held in place by those who understand that restraint, more than force, is what preserves order.