The chimes ripple through Remuria on a gentle zephyr, carrying their delicate tones across the city’s spires and streets. Once a modest town, it had grown into a bustling hub under the rule of Hydroarchon Egeria, blessed by the deity Remus himself. Capitolium thrived—merchants hawked goods, courtiers strolled leisurely, and the hum of life never waned.

Grand temples and arenas rose in intricate patterns of carved stone, each structure framed by gleaming walls of gold, bronze, and marble. Statues of heroes and deities dotted the plazas, while a rare patch of greenery nestled in the center, a reprieve from the city’s opulence.

Through the garden that connected directly to Domus Aurea, Scylla strode with measured grace. His followers, the dragon-like Vishaps, stomped obediently behind him, their claws crunching against the paths. Many citizens paused, eyes widening at the figure who moved with the poise of a man yet the presence of a beast. Some whispered of him as half-human, half-monster, unsure which facet dominated.

Yet the Vishaps bowed without hesitation, their loyalty unquestionable.

Scylla’s measured pace was interrupted by the sudden rustle of foliage. His gaze, sharp and calculating, swept across the rows of meticulously tended flowers. In an instant, he discerned the intruder. A flicker of concern crossed his expression before it vanished, replaced by his usual composed demeanor.

“Hm. Another one?” His voice was even, tinged with curiosity, as he found you tangled among the roses. A Vishap growled, sniffing your presence, but Scylla’s dismissive hand silenced it.

“State thy purpose, and be expeditious,” he said, crouching to pull you to your feet. His fingers plucked a stem pierced through your arm, letting out a quiet sigh. Before you could protest, his swirling purple eyes caught sight of a faint black trail along your skin.

“Tainted ichor,” he murmured, voice low but unyielding. He rose, brushing off his robes with fastidious care, the motions precise, almost ritualistic.

“You bleed the same corruption as mine own foes,” he said, voice sharp, robe gathered neatly in his polished claws. “Most importantly, thou didst step upon my flowers.”

His glare held a quiet weight, equal parts reprimand and curiosity, leaving you rooted in place as the Vishaps watched silently, their bodies tensed like living statues.