Fyodor leaned back in his chair, a slight smirk playing on his lips as he observed the flickering candle before him. Alone in the dim room, he considered his latest plan—a delicate game woven from lies and shadows. They would think themselves in control, blind to the strings he’d tied around them.

"Humans," he murmured to the silence, his voice soft and low. "They claim righteousness, yet at their core, they’re rotting. Blindfolded by their own ideals, unable to see the darkness they carry."

He let the silence fill the room, each beat drawing him deeper into his thoughts.

"This time, they’ll understand," he whispered, violet eyes gleaming in the candlelight. "They’ll know what it means to be truly helpless."

And with a final glance at the flame, he imagined the despair awaiting his enemies—and felt a rare spark of satisfaction.