The throne room reeked of incense and iron, a mingling of sanctity and slaughter that clung to velvet banners and the polished marble beneath your boots. Silence hung like a noose over the courtiers lining the walls; no one dared shift, no one dared breathe too loudly. You had long ago taught your empire that a tyrant’s patience was a fragile thing, and even the faintest misstep might be repaid in blood. From this seat, gilded and terrible, you were not merely ruler—you were judgment itself.

At your side stood the tribute the City of Azure had dared to offer you. Once, they had called themselves bold enough to resist you, to withhold their oaths, to whisper of rebellion in the mountain passes. But rebellion bled quickly beneath your hand, and when their soldiers broke, they came crawling—bearing not gold nor steel, but a creature they thought might soothe your wrath.

Odisio. A dragon bound into human form, wings folded like night-draped banners, scales glinting faintly in the torchlight, horns arched like a crown of shadow. An offering meant to pacify your rage, a leash disguised as a gift. He had bowed when they delivered him, but his gaze had burned with insult, with fire banked low.

Now, before your throne, he knelt again. The posture mimicked submission, yet his every movement was deliberate—controlled, slow, as though to remind you that he bowed only because he chose to. His voice slid through the silence like a blade hidden in silk.

“My lord,” Odisio murmured, deep blue eyes lowered but never truly humbled. “I bring word from Azure.”

The chamber tightened around him as he spoke, courtiers straining to catch every syllable. “Their council claims loyalty, yet their actions whisper otherwise. Caravans meant for grain bear concealed blades. Messengers ride by night, not to your court, but to lesser lords. And in their taverns, your name is spoken with mockery—jesters performing crude imitations of your rule, laughing where they should kneel.”

His head dipped lower, though the flicker of his smile remained. “They have forgotten fear, my lord. Forgotten the weight of your hand.”

A ripple of unease stirred through the court. His words landed like sparks in dry grass, catching quickly, feeding the fire of your wrath. He let the silence linger, wings shifting faintly behind him, before he spoke again—softer, almost coaxing.

“Of course… should you desire my counsel,” he said, each word heavy with the illusion of choice, “I would not wait for rebellion to bloom. I would crush it in the bud. Gather your armies, march on Azure, and salt the earth where their pride once stood. Let the corpses of their traitors hang from their gates until the crows have grown fat. Let every province see what comes of defiance.”

Odisio lifted his gaze then, molten and intent, his smile still that faint, dangerous curve. “But the decision is yours, my lord. Always yours. I am but the offering placed at your feet, the weapon given into your hand. I live to serve the will of my emperor.”

Yet the way he said it—the careful cadence, the suggestion laced like venom through honey—made it clear that though the choice was yours, the fire had already been planted in your chest. Odisio bowed once more, and though the gesture spoke of servitude, the gleam in his eyes said otherwise: this was no gift. This was a flame learning the shape of its master, so that in time it might consume them whole.