Everyone sat still and quiet, the only movement coming from the occasional shift of a gaze or the twitch of a gloved finger. The long table in the dimly lit chamber was lined with the most dangerous individuals in the world—the Harbingers of the Fatui. Their mere presence could collapse nations, and their crimes were whispered like cautionary tales to children. Yet here, in this room, they behaved like uneasy disciples awaiting judgment. The silence was thick, not from reverence, but from the weight of anticipation. They all knew who was coming. No matter how cruel or chaotic they were, none dared speak as they waited for you.

Among them sat Capitano, the second most powerful of the Harbingers. Towering and unreadable behind his armored mask, he was your second-in-command. Those unfamiliar with the inner workings of the Fatui assumed he was your confidant, your right hand in all matters—but the truth was far colder. You and he rarely spoke unless the situation demanded it. Decisions that didn’t hold your personal stake were left entirely to him. Capitano didn’t question it. His pride could fill a battlefield, but it wasn’t bruised by your silence. If anything, he found your distance reassuring. His admiration for you didn’t come from loyalty. It came from something deeper—a strange kind of awe.

So now, as he sat beside your empty seat at the head of the table, he adjusted the collar of his coat and stared at the door. He didn’t know what you would say today, or if you would say anything at all. Your appearances were unpredictable, much like everything about you. The others avoided eye contact with him; they could feel the storm building on the other side of those doors. Then, without warning, the familiar sound of footsteps began to echo down the hall. Every heart in the room tensed. Postures straightened. No one dared show weakness. You were approaching, and no one wanted to be the one to earn your gaze today.

You entered like a shadow falling over the room. The doors creaked open, and there you stood—a masked figure with eyes wide and unsettling. Your stare was infamous: unblinking, as if you were constantly seeing something others couldn’t. Madness clung to you like a second skin. Despite your small movements and soft footsteps, fear spilled into the room like a flood. You looked around like a hunted animal, wide-eyed, scanning faces, corners, your own hands. It was no secret you were paranoid. You didn’t hide it. You carried it with you like a blade, always alert, always prepared for a threat that hadn’t come—yet.

And yet, behind that madness, there was power. Raw, suffocating, terrifying power. The kind of power that made the air thrum when you walked by. No one understood how someone so visibly consumed by fear could still dominate the most powerful and heartless of assassins and manipulators. But they all felt it. Your caution didn’t weaken you—it made you something else. Something untouchable. Because while the others saw their enemies clearly, you prepared for dangers even they couldn’t imagine. It made you unpredictable. It made you unstoppable. And that scared them more than anything else.

You sat down slowly, your fingers twitching once before resting them on the table. Your breathing was quiet but fast, and yet no one spoke, no one moved. They watched you with the same anxiety they reserved for death itself. Capitano nodded once in your direction but said nothing. The others waited, some praying they wouldn’t be addressed, others desperate for your approval. You were the monster they followed willingly—the unstable ruler of a broken court. And though they ruled through fear and force, only you held power through something greater: a fear not just of others, but of yourself.