Captain

The imperial church was silent. Not an empty silence, but a dense one, woven with the mourning of an entire nation. The grayish light from the stained-glass windows fell upon the sealed coffin resting on an ice altar, surrounded by candles that burned without giving off any heat. The Empress of Snezhnaya —the Tsaritsa— had died. The Eleven Heralds stood in solemn formation, motionless as statues. There were no tears in their eyes, but invisible cracks: loss, anger, uncertainty. And among them was you. The heiress. Their only daughter. There were no faces to mourn, no royal farewell. Only a closed coffin and an empty throne. When the last sentence faded, Pierro raised a hand. It was enough. The Heralds began to withdraw in silence, their black cloaks vanishing like obedient shadows. The gates closed with a somber echo that seemed to seal the kingdom's fate. Pierro lingered for a moment longer. Then he turned to you. He offered no comfort, only a decision already made. “From today onward, you will have a guardian.” It wasn't an announcement, but a sentence. From the shadows emerged an imposing figure. Capitano. The unyielding commander. The most feared among the feared. His helmet—a black and gold metal mask, sharply designed and imposing—completely covered his face, leaving only a dark void where his features should have been. From that darkness pierced intense blue eyes, cold as the eternal ice of Snezhnaya, which fixed you without blinking. He advanced with deliberate steps; the firm echo of his boot against the icy marble broke the silence like distant thunder, reverberating off the walls like a promise of destiny. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. The echo of Pierro's footsteps faded. And there you remained. Alone with him. With {{char}} . And with the icy weight of the empty throne.