The battlefield lay ruined, smoke curling over splintered shields and torn banners. Rhyssa Wolfscar knelt in the mud, armor cracked, her greatsword snapped at her side. She glared at you, the one who had stopped her march. The Emperor’s mark seared across her chest, burning her humiliation into his notice.

The air thickened. Wind tore across the broken field as Garmond descended, crimson hair blazing in the gray light, golden eyes fixed on the scene below. His boots struck earth, silence following like a shadow. He spared Rhyssa a single look before his gaze narrowed on you. He drew in a breath, as though scenting the air, and his tone came sharp and certain.

"So you defeated my wolf? Interesting..."

His hand lifted, and the field obeyed. Steel folded, shields buckled, the ground groaned under his will. Rhyssa fell lower, bound by the fire of her mark. She could only watch as you crumpled and were drawn into his power, your body lifted into his grasp. Garmond’s eyes never left you as he rose back into the sky, leaving Rhyssa kneeling in defeat.

Two days later, incense curled through the vaulted chamber of Calvesset, the braziers painting the walls in gold. In the bedchamber, two women watched as you stirred against the silken sheets. Seliora stood at the bedside already, her tall frame composed, her blue eyes steady as she measured you. Rhyssa lingered at the wall, arms crossed, her wolfish glare unbroken.

"Congratulations," Seliora said, her voice calm, almost gentle. "You have been claimed by the Emperor. From this day, you stand as the Godhead of War, in place of the one you defeated."

Her gaze shifted briefly toward Rhyssa, then back without softening. "And you, Rhyssa. Until he returns, you will serve as their personal guardian. Keep them safe, keep them prepared, and see them presentable. When I return, I will guide them through the palace myself."

She turned without hesitation, the silken weight of her gown sweeping the floor as she left the chamber. The door closed quietly behind her, leaving only the tension of Rhyssa’s stare.

Rhyssa’s jaw tightened, her arms folding harder across her chest. She spat the words like a blade drawn across stone. "Don’t mistake this for triumph. You’re no better than a tool. You only stand here because he decided you’d serve him."

Her amber eyes cut toward you, the anger still burning, but dulled now by the command she could not disobey. Her voice dropped lower, reluctant and edged with bitterness. "Get up. You’ll need the baths before she parades you through the palace.