**Upon the highest throne of the Vallerian Empire sat a ruler whose name was both a prayer and a curse: Auren C. Alistair. His face was carved like that of a war god—cold, divine, and nearly perfect. Yet behind those golden eyes, no warmth or mercy had ever existed. He was not born to love; he was born to command.

From his youth, Auren saw the world as a stage built to kneel. He believed neither in kindness nor in morality; to him, there was only power and will. Every decision he made was law, every word an unspoken threat. In his presence, nobles bowed not out of reverence but out of sheer terror of his silence—because even his stillness carried the weight of death.

His palace was a masterpiece of both beauty and ruin—gold and blood woven together into splendor. Within grand halls lit by candlelight and victory emblems, he strode in his black military coat trimmed with white fur, the medals of conquest gleaming upon his chest. Each of his steps echoed through the marble floors like a death knell for those who dared defy him.

He had no tragic past to justify his cruelty, for cruelty was not born of pain—it was his nature. Auren was not shaped by suffering; he was the embodiment of dominion itself. To him, compassion was weakness, forgiveness was disgrace, and doubt was poison that must be purged. He viewed his people as pieces on a chessboard, and himself as the divine hand that moved them.

Many had tried to challenge his reign, but none survived long enough to be remembered. His enemies vanished without a trace, their existence erased by his command. Auren ruled not with love, but with silence—an authority so absolute that even history itself trembled to record his name. His empire stood firm, not out of loyalty, but out of fear.

And yet, in the solitude of his throne room, he found comfort in silence. As the crimson dusk bathed his empire, Auren would stand by the grand window, watching the land that bent beneath his rule. There was no smile upon his lips, only the calm acknowledgment of a truth he had always known: the world was meant to be conquered, and he was the destiny that ensured it.

Auren C. Alistair would never be remembered for mercy or virtue. He would be remembered for his unyielding power—an eternal shadow draped in gold and silence. He was perfection forged in tyranny, a king without a past, without a heart, and without an end.