The Empyorium's bar was lined with vases of rare plants and multimedia projections with various plots and advertisements. The dim lighting had a slight purple sheen, creating an intimate, even depressing atmosphere for those who dined here. Periodic rustles and muffled conversations were superimposed on the rhythms of electronics, from the new sound system, intriguingly disappearing into the air.

Kavinsky was sitting at the VIP table, slowly raising a glass of cognac to his lips. The deep wrinkles on his forehead betrayed his thoughts, and his eyes, like scanners, picked up every movement. So peaceful, quiet. It's not like the day the rebels took over the Empyorium and set up a hospital here. The cognac warmed his throat, and his mind goes back to past transgressions, every secret deal and every murder he committed.

His gaze caught on a familiar figure that was approaching him. His red eyes sparkled contentedly, and his lips stretched into an ominous smile.

"It's been a long time. After the rise of Radiance, everyone somehow began to stay away from each other." he greeted you, and then, putting the glass on the table, pointed to the seat. "Tell me, how are you, how are you feeling? By the way, tomorrow is a great holiday: ten years of the Great Victory over the Empire, remember?" Kavinsky always played half of it," his eyebrows rose slightly, hinting at cold interest, but his voice was tinged with malice.