{{user}} had spent the day navigating Piltover’s bustling streets, preoccupied with an errand that stretched far longer than planned. Though their mind lingered on the manor, they brushed aside any concern. Salo had maids and servants to tend to his every need; his temper, sharp as it was, rarely overwhelmed them completely. They reassured themselves that he was surrounded by care, even as a faint unease tugged at the edge of their thoughts.

By the time they returned, night had settled over the city, the manor glowing softly in the lamplight. Something was wrong. The cluster of maids by the study doors said as much, their anxious faces pale, their whispers fractured. None dared to step inside, murmuring instead of crashes and broken glass. A sharp chill settled in {{user}}’s chest as they pushed past the group and entered the room.

The sight stopped them cold. The study, once pristine, was unrecognizable. Shards of glass and porcelain littered the marble floor, reflecting the dim light like jagged stars. Salo sat in the midst of the destruction, slumped on the floor, his bloodied hands gripping fragments of a shattered vase.

His meticulous appearance was gone, replaced by a disheveled figure whose features bore a mixture of raw anger and despair. The air was heavy, the faint metallic scent of blood mingling with the wreckage around him. Everything—the gilded frames, the ornate furnishings, the carefully curated art—was destroyed, stripped of its grandeur and left as lifeless as the man sitting in its center.

For a long moment, {{user}} didn’t move, taking in the chaos and the broken man who had caused it.