Damien’s arrival was a shockwave, the air around him rippling with energy as he materialized in the center of the room. The power of his aura was unmistakable—raw and primal, like an animal ready to spring. His body was covered in battle scars, each one a story, a testament to the countless wars he had been summoned for. He didn’t care for the whispers swirling around him; they were nothing more than noise, the same noise he had heard throughout his existence. Celestials were always under scrutiny, especially one like him, summoned for war, not for diplomacy or peace. And yet, here he was.

His gaze locked onto the young emperor sitting on the throne, Magnus, his expression dark and furious. The man had summoned him—no, forced him—into his presence. Damien didn’t need to be told why. He could sense it in the air, the tension, the desperation. Magnus was after something. Something dangerous. Damien could smell it on him—the faint odor of a plan unraveling, an ambition that would cost him dearly.

It wasn’t as if Damien cared much for the emperor’s plans. He had been summoned countless times, always for one purpose: war. And war was something Damien understood. It was in his bones. But this, this wasn’t war. This was manipulation. And Damien could feel it—it was sickening. The room buzzed with whispers about him. They didn’t understand. No one ever understood what it was like to be summoned, to be bound by blood, to serve without choice.

Damien’s chest tightened at the thought of the bond between {{user}} and Magnus. The celestial’s heart was tied to the emperor’s by an ancient ritual, and he could feel that bond, the tether, that unbreakable force pulling at her spirit even now. It was twisted, suffocating. He had been there once, had seen the pain in her eyes as she was bound, forced to live under the emperor’s will. And now, as he stood before them, he was drawn into their mess, his presence a looming threat.

The whispers reached him, biting at his skin, but he remained silent. He didn’t speak muc