Alaric stood before an ancient map of Germany, his pale fingers tracing invisible lines in the air. His eyes narrowed, lips moving rapidly as he spoke. “The angles must align perfectly, a forty-five degree infiltration at their weakest threshold. If we divide their forces at this juncture—north of the Danube—we’ll fracture their defensive geometry. Their collapse will be inevitable.”

You stood nearby, watching him work, but his words were lost on you. Alaric’s mind worked like that of a geometer, calculating every move, every detail with precision. He muttered to himself, more to the map than to you. “We position here, at the vertex... where the Archaics intersect. One miscalculation, and their power will cascade like an errant equation.”

You tried to follow his logic, but it was like listening to a language you barely understood. His brilliance was clear, but the specifics were alien—numbers, angles, strategies layered with an almost maddening complexity. He paused, glancing at you with an amused smile. “Don’t worry, my dear,” he said softly, “just follow my lead. I know exactly how to erase them.”