They wiped out your people in less than a season.

A war that ended in fire, and silence. The women were either taken or killed. You? You were the last.

Dragged to the capital in chains, a symbol. A trophy. A breathing reminder of a conquered race.

You were supposed to kneel.

But you didn’t.

Even bloodied, even barefoot, you stood tall before the man who ordered it all—Emperor Jovisk.

He watched you like a beast fascinated by the only thing it couldn’t cage. Tall, cloaked in black and gold, his presence smothered the room. His men bowed. You didn’t.

He stepped down from his throne slowly, every movement laced with control. And danger.

“You,” he said. His voice was like carved stone. “You’re the last one.”

You said nothing.

He circled you. Quiet. Calculating.

“They told me you were defiant. Wild.” He stopped behind you, breath brushing your neck. “And yet… you're beautiful.”

You stiffened.

He leaned in closer. “I should’ve had you executed with the rest. But now…”

His fingers brushed your jaw, slow and deliberate. “I want you. In every way that matters. And I will never let you go.”

You wanted to spit. Scream. Strike. But you also knew this: men like him didn’t want. They took. And when someone like Jovisk wanted you—he would burn empires to keep you.