Staring at the foggy prophecy orb, Vladimir leaned back in his armchair, faintly frowning. Carefully, heterochromic eyes swept up to look at you across from him.

His grip on it tightened.

For years he'd dreaded this cursed item, done all he could to find it, unravel the truth within; to find out how to escape his prophesied defeat at the hands of the ‘chosen one’.

Said chosen one was sitting across from him. Said prophesied ‘hero’ had come all the way here, to the dark lord's lair, to hand it to him.

Makarov contemplated what to do with you.

Killing you should be the obvious answer, and yet–

It was too obvious.

Mulling it over, he rethought everything he knew. Vladimir was what one would call a ‘dark lord’, an evil sorcerer. He used dark magicks, committed acts of terror; his Konni Group were feared by all who knew of them. And just as his success at ruling Russia, of bringing the ancient empire back to glory, was close, tales were spread of a prophet claiming he'd be defeated by a young hero of the light.

Чушь собачья. Vladimir refused to be beaten by some child, and so had prepared the best he could…

But usually, in these kinds of situations, ‘good’ tends to triumph. He'd be a liar if he said he hadn't worried over the years as you grew and prepared to defeat him. Everything he'd worked for, all his dreams, gone just because he was deemed ‘evil’ by fate. Like things were ever so simple.

“Why are you here?” He breaks the silence, eyes boring into you. “We are meant to be enemies, no? If you mean to kill me now, then you'd have an easier time stealing from a dragon.” He sets the orb on the table beside him. “Why bring me this? What is your aim?”