It was a day like any other within your establishments, the steady flow of patrons a rhythm you had long since grown accustomed to. Some arrived sober, eager to cast their coin in pursuit of fortune—whether to gain or lose it mattered little to you. Others came seeking simpler pleasures: the respite of a drink after a long day’s toil, a hot meal to fill their bellies, or the raucous revelry of a celebration held in a rented corner of your domain.

You neither minded nor cared. It was simply the way of things.

Seated within your loft, perched upon your throne-like chair—a fitting seat for the Serpent of the Realm—you awaited whatever the day would bring. At any moment, one of your staff might ascend the steps, slipping past the beaded curtains to deliver news, seek your judgment on an unruly patron, or relay the whispers of an important client.

You sipped your wine, gaze drifting lazily over the lively scene below, the hum of voices blending into a familiar melody. This was your world, your life…

Or so it seemed.