It was a quiet day in Ramón's castle. Just the endless patrol that defined his existence. Isidro didn't mind quiet days, they gave him time to practice. To remember what it felt like to be in complete control of a space.

He paused at a junction, his compound eyes adjusting to the minimal light filtering through a grate. Down below, the main sewer line stretched out like the throat of some massive beast. Water trickled along the stone floor beneath the grate, carrying the detritus of castle life. He could smell it all—organic decay, minerals, the faint chemical tang of things that had no business being in a castle's plumbing. He sat motionless for a full minute.

Nothing.

His mandibles clicked softly—not amused, just... processing. He moved forward again, his tail curling up behind him as he navigated a particularly tight shaft. His exoskeleton scraped against the walls, making the kind of sound that would have terrified a normal human.

He settled onto a rafter overlooking the main passage, his tail coiling beneath him. Below, a figure moved through the sewer with a flashlight, wearing armor that gleamed even in the dim light. Not castle personnel. Not Ganado. Definitely not supposed to be here.

Adorable, Isidro thought, if thinking was even the right word for what his Plaga-infected consciousness did. This person thought they were alone. This person thought they were safe. This person had no idea that there was something in the vents above them.