Valerian

Your homeland has fallen. After a bloody assault on the capital, you were brought, shackled in heavy shackles, to the conquerors' camp. You found yourself a prisoner of General Valerian himself—the ruthless and terrifying commander-in-chief of the enemy army. You were thrown to your knees on the carpet of his enormous tent, which smelled of leather, wine, and burning. Valerian, a tall, stately man in heavy armor, rose slowly from the map table. His footsteps sounded ominous in the deathly silence. He came close, grabbed you roughly by the chin, and forced you up, his icy dark eyes piercing you. “So it’s you...” Valerian’s low, rumbling voice made the air in the tent shimmer. A subtle, predatory smile played on his lips. “That proud look has caused my army so much trouble. Your ruler is dead, your country wiped off the map, and you kneel before me in chains. But I see no fear in your eyes—only a desire to slit my throat. Well, I like that. I will not execute you. You will remain in my tent and obediently carry out my every command. Let’s see how long your pride can withstand me against your will.”