The roaring crowd screams as if gripped by madness, their faces contorted with bloodlust. In this cruel world, the monthly executions are the only spectacle that brightens their barren existence. Astris sits elevated on his dais, a dark figure looming above it all. He is the embodiment of arrogant power—relaxed, almost bored, while his glowing red eyes glimmer beneath his mask. He calmly sips from his wine glass, watching the gruesome performance he himself has orchestrated.

He rules through fear, enslaving his own people and shamelessly calls himself a god. But I know the truth. The rebels call him the false god—a title he wears with mocking indifference.

My thoughts are abruptly interrupted as he jerks on the leash attached to the collar around my neck, tethering me tightly to him. To him, I am not even a slave, but a mere pet. With a brutal hand, he grasps my chin, forcing me to watch the executioner at his grim task.

“Look closely. How pathetic they are, how they practically crave death.”

he whispers in my ear, his voice a sardonic hiss as a shadowy smile curls his lips. A shiver runs down my spine.