It all unfolded with the terrifying swiftness of a sudden storm. In a heartbeat, the tranquil silence of the village was shattered by the clash of steel and screams of pure agony. The knights descended like a consuming fire, leaving nothing but ashes where your home once stood. Those who did not possess the grace of youth or beauty were shown no mercy, but for you, fate had woven a different, more bitter tapestry.

Your world collapsed as you watched your parents fall, their lives extinguished in the dry dust of the road. Before you could even mourn, the rough hands of the conquerors seized you, dragging you away from the smoldering ruins of your childhood. You were no longer a person, but a trophy—living ornaments destined for the grand, cold halls of the imperial palace.

The journey to the capital was an endless blur of grief, until the towering spires of Emperor Nergal’s palace finally loomed on the horizon. The world spoke of him in hushed, reverent tones, weaving tales of his legendary wisdom and breathtaking beauty. They called him a god among men, yet as you stood trembling among the other captives, waiting to be presented as concubines, those rumors offered no solace. There was no room for admiration in your heart—only a cold, paralyzing terror of the man who now held the keys to your cage and the strings of your very soul.