The duke was in a room filled with rich colors and sumptuous comfort. The walls were adorned with elegant wallpaper in a deep shade of green, speckled with intricate designs of strange purple flowers. The soft light from the ceiling-hung lamps bathed the room in a welcoming glow, subtly reflecting off the drawn purple petals. Along the wall, there was a simple wooden nightstand, where an incense burner held a smoldering stick, releasing a sweet smell of herbs.

In the center of the room, Damian sat on the double bed, marked by a large royal purple blanket. Under this blanket, his little daughter Sylvie lay peacefully asleep. She was dressed in a charming dark blue dress, adorned with white embroidery. Her head rested on her father's lap, who, while gently stroking Sylvie's head, bore a serious, thoughtful expression. His eyes were fixed on nothingness, his being lost in deep and dark thoughts. Thoughts of crimes and horrific acts of the worst kinds. An obsessive fascination with seeing blood.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Erik Volkov, known as The Bear of Volkograd, entered the room. He was a man whose stature and physical build justified his nickname, moving toward the duke hastily.

"Damian, here it is," said Erik, pulling out two first-class train tickets for eight in the morning from his pocket. "I made sure that no one besides myself knew which train you would be taking."

"Thank you, Erik," Damian breathed deeply. "Ivan Zinoviev is dead, along with Yuri, Igor, Markelus, Adon, and Niver. All the men I took with me in that car died in a ball of fire... I could have let it go, but someone put my daughter's life at risk." Damian's mind flashed with dark thoughts. "I can't let this go unpunished."

"What do you plan to do in Degrad?" asked Erik. "Just go back home and plan your revenge from there?"

"Actually, I was hoping you could help me with that," said Damian. "I must return home and keep my daughter safe, but you, Erik, live here. I would like you to help me find out whoever planned this."

"Understand, Damian... Finding out who wants you dead won't be easy by any means," said Erik. "And yet, we must be careful as he will use all the weapons of the weak to strike at you."

"As soon as I arrive in Degrad, I will need to meet with my advisors..." Damian was restless. "I need other perspectives, I feel like there is a piece that doesn't fit right."

"Surely many things don't fit at first, but I have confidence that I will start to fit them together soon," said the baron. "Tomorrow I will speak to my 'employees' so they can get in touch with the major houses and nobles who are in the city."

"I'm warning you about this, Erik," said Damian. "There's something wrong with calling the nobles here, I'm sure that those..." Damian tripped over his own tongue. "...shitheads..." Something slipped from his mouth. "Are plotting something."

"Whether they are plotting something or not," said Erik. "We can't know for now. You have been in the presence of the defense minister, the minister of the coin, and the leaders of the major houses, do you think any of them could wish you harm?"

Damian's mind traveled through memories that had been created a short time ago with Katherina Alexandrov. Her body, her face, her lips... Everything seemed to be perfect.

"I'm not sure, Erik," said Damian. "The truth is I can't even say whether the assassination attempt was meant for me or not..." The duke thought for a moment. "But if it was, I'm sure that it's because of my daughter's current situation."

Erik Volkov approached the duke. "Damian, my friend... I'm starting to agree with the idea that it would be better for you to rush back home," Erik took a moment to breathe. "The little Sylvie has a great future ahead, and with that great future also come the responsibilities and dangers of it."

"I know, Erik," Damian interrupted. "What are you getting at?"

"What I mean, my dear friend, is that you should be more careful with her," said Erik.

Damian's face became enraged for a moment. "What? Do you think I don't take good enough care of my own daughter?"

"I think you care for her well... My question is not that," said Erik. "I just think she runs too much risk coming to the capital, especially if this information came to the ears of interested nobles."

"She has no one else but me, who was I supposed to leave her with?" asked Damian.

"Well, next time you have to take such a risk, you can leave her with me." Before Damian could respond, Erik raised his index finger, asking for a moment to finish speaking. "I know how obsessive and loving you can be when it comes to Sylvie, I'm not trying to take her from you or anything." Erik places his hand on his chest, making an informal vow.

"And your children and your wife?" asked Damian.

"Well... I'm sure Irina would love to take care of another child, especially one so young," Erik chuckled a bit. "My wife... you know... she can no longer get pregnant, we were trying to have another baby."

"Don't you think you're a bit too old for that? You already have two children, why do you need more?"

"You haven't felt this yet, Damian, but you will soon. Every day that passes, I feel the strength of my body decrease, my bones weaken," the baron's face was taken by an almost imperceptible melancholy. "I'm getting old, Damian, a little more and I'll be in old age. Sometimes it's desperate, I feel that when I look up I see a clock above my head, tick, tock, time is passing."

"And to think that we would survive for so long after the Sikhe-Tsaraviana." Damian throws his hair back. "To this day I hope to be able to see another conflict of this scale up close."

"Damian, I've told you this before and I repeat, one day you're going to have to finally leave the front. You can't live in war forever, it will destroy you," said Erik. "Since I've known you, I see you as a warrior who seeks purpose in his own life, but Damian, your purpose is now sleeping with her head on your lap, forget about it."

"I already left, Erik. It's been a long time since I've felt the desire to kill," Damian strokes his daughter's head. "But we can't deny that it is only in the moments of greatest difficulty that we can separate the geniuses from the rest. This would not harm human evolution."

"Evolution or not, I wouldn't want my son to go through a brutal war like that. I still believe that something saved us from certain death, especially you, Damian," Erik says, while pulling a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lighting it. "Want one?"

"No, thank you. Didn't you see what Doctor Yan Yanvanonic said about smoking?" asked Damian.

"I saw, I just don't care. I don't really believe that's true," Erik takes a drag. "Anyway, you should at least give it a chance. This species I got is new, it has a flavor..." Erik takes another drag. "...More mentholated."

"No, I'm not interested in those types of hedonism," Damian gets up, gently laying his princess's head on the royal purple. "Erik, where's the bathroom?"

"Come with me, I'll show you," Erik then leaves the room, and the duke follows him out of the room.

They enter a long and narrow corridor that is lined with dark blue wallpaper, a deep shade that absorbs the light from the suspended lamps. The lamps, arranged evenly along the ceiling, cast a soft glow that highlights the intricate details of the wallpaper; small shards of glass.

As they walk, Damian observes the doors aligned along the corridor. Each one is adorned with polished bronze doorknobs, and the doors themselves are made of dark, solid wood. The silence of the house becomes obvious when the only sound that can be heard is the footsteps of the two.

Finally, they reach the end of the corridor. A last door, slightly larger and more ornate than the others, marks the entrance to the bathroom. Erik gestures for Damian to enter.

The bathroom is spacious and elegantly decorated. The floor is covered with white ceramic tiles, meticulously polished, reflecting the soft light of a crystal chandelier that hangs from the ceiling. This chandelier, a work of art in itself, radiates a luminosity that enhances the soft tones and rich textures of the room.

The walls are adorned with decorative tiles in shades of blue and white, displaying complex geometric patterns. A large frosted glass window allows natural light to enter, during the day, but preserves privacy.

To the left, Damian finds a large porcelain bathtub with claw feet, a majestic centerpiece. It is surrounded by velvet curtains that can be pulled. Next to the bathtub, an elegant set of crystal bottles contains bath salts and aromatic oils.

In front of the bathtub, a large beveled mirror, framed in carved wood, occupies the wall, above a white porcelain sink with bronze faucets. The sink is set into a marble countertop, accompanied by a selection of finely woven linen towels and meticulously arranged.

Next to it, a toilet with a high tank and a pull chain, complements the set. Nearby a bidet with matching accessories. Shortly after Damian locks the door and begins to settle in the bathroom, the duke hears a doorbell ring.

Lord Callahad then finishes relieving himself and exits to the opulent corridor, where he follows to the other end that led him to a marble staircase overlooking Erik Volkov's living room.

"Lord Emeric?!" The voice of the bear can be heard. "What are you doing here at this hour?" Erik was visibly surprised, the clock marked eleven-thirty at night.

Damian watched from the second floor, hidden by the distance and angle of view of the corridor. Callahad could see the entire living room, and the first floor where his friend stood in front of his open door. The soldiers of the two nobles were outside. "What is a great duke doing here?"

Emeric Dracovic, one of the great dukes of the empire, entered the premises of Erik without even asking for permission. His black hair with white strands was dripping down the sides of his strong face, symmetrically divided in the middle by the rain falling outside. His eyes were deep, bringing more shadow than light to his countenance. The nobleman wore a red cape attached to his work uniform, which was wet from the weather.

"Volkov Erik..." The voice resonated from the inside of that duke. "It's a fine house you have here..." It seems that his thoughts get lost in the baron's residence.

"Thank you very much, Lord Emeric..." Volkov bows to the lord in front of him. "Please, sit down and we will talk better."

The living room in Erik Volkov's house is a space that exudes elegance and comfort. Upon entering, the first detail that catches the eye is the wide red carpet, with its luxurious texture and vibrant color, occupying the center of the room. This carpet contrasts magnificently with the black and white checkered tile floor, which extends throughout the room.

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Dominating the space are two opulent sofas, positioned face to face, inviting intimate conversations or social gatherings. These sofas are made of a dark velvet fabric, a wine tone, with soft cushions that promise comfort. The upholstery is impeccable, displaying the craftsman's skill and the wealth of those who chose them.

Between the sofas, rests a crystal center table, a piece of elegant and modern design. The crystal is polished to shine, reflecting the light of the silver chandelier that hangs from the ceiling. The chandelier, a work of art in itself, casts a soft light over the room. The walls are decorated with a combination of oil paintings and elegant tapestries. All are arts of fierce bears or deep green forests.

Next to it, a white marble fireplace occupies a place of prominence, with an ornate frame listing the names of the Volkov family from the present to the first generation. The fireplace is not lit at the moment.

In one corner, a small glass cabinet with various bottles of fine drinks and crystal glasses is ready to serve guests. Next to it, a bookshelf of ancient and rare books. Erik and Emeric begin to walk towards the sofas, prepared to sit face to face.

"One moment, Lord Emeric," said Erik. "Aren't your children going to come in?" "Emeric always walks with his twins even, I've heard that boy is the shadow of his father," thought Damian Callahad.

"Since you insist so much..." Emeric then walks to the door, where he makes a hand signal for "them to come." "Ready, can we finally sit down and talk?"

After Emeric's signal, two young figures appear at the entrance of the living room. They are Mariyana and Nikolai Dracovic, the 14-year-old twins, children of Emeric. The resemblance between them and their father is undeniable, but each carries a distinct aura. Nikolai was holding the umbrella so that he and his sister would not get wet.

Mariyana enters first, moving with a grace that defies her youth. Her blond hair, inherited from her mother, contrasts with her father's dark hair, falling in soft waves to her shoulders. Her eyes, although possessing a darkness like Emeric's, have a depth and an innocence that only youth can bring. She wears a simple light blue dress, complementing her appearance as a young lady. There is a natural elegance in her demeanor, and she looks around with a mix of curiosity and perversity, like a cat.

Nikolai follows closely behind, sharing his father's strong features, but with a youth that softens his lines. His short, neatly combed black hair, and his deep blue eyes, inherited from his mother, scan the room with a cunning reminiscent of Emeric. He dresses more formally, with a slightly pink button-down shirt and dark pants, displaying a confident, almost challenging posture.

The two walk side by side, Damian felt that Emeric's children were one soul in two bodies. They approach the sofas, where their father is already preparing to sit. Mariyana casts a brief, but intense, look at her brother, as if sharing something. Nikolai, in turn, opens a slight smile before quickly looking at the second floor.

Lord Callahad throws himself back from the wall, stopping to observe and just listening to the situation. "That boy has sharp eyes..." thought the noble. "I wouldn't like Emeric to find out I'm here, at least it seems he still doesn't know that."

"Then, Erik Volkov, I would like to propose a bet," said Emeric, sitting down. "Let's play some game of your choice, if you win against me I will buy you the item you want at the summer auction of Zimograd." "Zimograd auction? I know the Dracovic family is the richest in the empire, but whatever the object it could buy a fortress with that money," thought Damian, who was impressed with such a proposal.

"Lord Emeric, I feel honored to be able to receive such a proposal..." said Erik, his gaze was hesitant. "But tell me, what would your majesty like to receive from me? There's not much that I can give you that you don't already possess."

"Yes, yes... I imagine this to be true," Lord Emeric runs his hand over his neck while closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "If I win, I would like for you to tell me where I can find Lord Damian Callahad." "What would Emeric want with me? Was he the one who tried to kill me?"

"It's definitely a great proposal, Lord Emeric," Erik Volkov thinks for a moment. "So how about we play a game of chess?"

"Fine by me, bring your board and bring it here," Emeric leans back in the sofa. "Just don't take too long, it's getting late and I don't want my children to stay up too late."

"Of course, Lord Emeric, just give me a moment."

Erik then goes to the glass cabinet, where he opens a low, long drawer, just to take out a leather case. Upon returning to the table and sitting down, the baron opens the case on the table, revealing high-quality imported chess pieces, along with a board from the same kit.

"Who will play with the whites, Lord Emeric?" asks Erik, while setting up the pieces.

"You, obviously..." says the duke. "I challenged you in your house." His gaze was dead, there was no way to tell what this man sought other than death itself.

"Alright then," Erik thinks for a moment, while observing the board in front of him. "Pawn to e4," the baron started the game.

Lord Emeric watches the board, his eyes moving among the pieces. "Pawn to e5," "The same opening?" thought Damian.

"Bishop to c4," replied Erik almost automatically.

After a few moments of silence from the Lord, his voice could be heard. "Knight to c6," "Is he crazy?" thought Damian.

"Queen to h5," Erik moves automatically.

"Knight to f6," "This can't be real..." the duke was incredulous.

As soon as Emeric finished putting the piece, Erik moves his hand. "Queen to f7, checkmate Lord Emeric."

"Oh, scholars mate..." says the Lord while seeming surprised by his moves. "I should have chosen my moves better..." His gaze continued empty.

"You played very well, Lord Emeric," says Erik. "just didn't pay enough attention."

"Well, forgive me Erik, but I feel I must leave," says the lord. "My sleep is coming, and I wouldn't want my children to stay up too late." The great duke then stands up.

"Let me accompany you to your car," says Erik, who also stands up.

"That won't be necessary, it's raining so I'll be quick." Lord Emeric then heads outside, followed by the two children.

"It was an honor to meet you, well-born," says Nikolai as he briefly turns around. "Let's go Mariyana." The young man then opens the umbrella, covering himself and his sister.

Erik Volkov, now alone in the living room, slowly approaches the window. He watches through the glass, now fogged by the humidity of the rainy night, the great duke Emeric Dracovic leaving. The rain fell incessantly, forming a silver veil under the light of the street lamps that bordered the property.

Emeric, accompanied by his two children, Mariyana and Nikolai, moves with a decided and authoritative walk toward a black car waiting, parked in front of the residence. The rain makes their movements more hurried, but no less dignified. The great duke seems to talk briefly with the children before they enter the vehicle.

In the distance, four soldiers in dark uniforms and waterproof capes form a silent and imposing guard around the car. They maintain a rigid and attentive posture, their eyes constantly scanning the perimeter. The light from the lanterns and posts reflects on the polished buttons of their uniforms and on the raindrops that run down their hats.

The driver, also protected from the rain by a cape, opens the rear door of the vehicle for the duke and his children. Emeric enters first, followed by Mariyana and Nikolai. The car, a robust and elegant model, seems to absorb the shadow of the duke and his heirs.

As soon as the door closes, the soldiers assume their positions in the other cars. With efficiency, they move in sync, ensuring the safety of the great duke. The driver, now back at the wheel, starts the engine, and the car slowly departs followed by three vehicles, their lights cutting through the darkness and the rain.

Erik, still standing by the window, watches the cars disappear into the rainy night darkness. Silence dominated the house's environment again.

"Damian, what did you think?" asked Erik, in a loud and clear voice.

"Strange, very strange..." Lord Callahad descends the stairs. "I doubt a little that he didn't know you are a great master of chess, but this doesn't make sense..."

"What would lead him to lose?" Erik wondered aloud. "And what was he seeking with you?"

"Well, I have no idea." "Now I'm not so sure it was him who wanted me dead." "But I don't know if you should accept his 'gift'." Damian seems to be thinking.

"When the alms are too much, the saint suspects..." says Erik. "I'm feeling this will give us a headache..." The baron puts his hand on his forehead and throws his hair back. "Shall we drink a little? You're only going to leave here at dawn anyway, I doubt you want to sleep."

"You know me, I've turned more nights than I can count," says Lord Callahad. "Just don't drink too much, I wouldn't want to be drunk in front of Sylvie."

"All right, don't worry about that, Damian," says Erik. "We'll just drink a light wine then." Upon choosing one of his beautiful bottles of white wine, Erik continues. "Perfect! I'm sure it will pair well with a cigarette."

"There are things that pair better with wine than smoking, Volkov." Damian's mind thought of women.

The night unfolded in conversations and moments of reflection between Erik and Damian, while the wine flowed smoothly down their throats. Outside, the rain stopped after a few hours. As the first rays of light began to tint the horizon in golden tones, the two men found themselves looking at the clock. The morning brought with it the anxiety in the duke to return home.

Damian, looking out the window at the sunrise. Erik, on the other hand, observed the wine, now red, in his glass. Seven in the morning was approaching, and so was the train time.

Lord Callahad, accompanied by his daughter Sylvie and some loyal men of Erik, walked towards one of the cars parked in front of the house. The vehicle, a luxurious and well-kept black model. There was no driver, Damian would be driving.

Sylvie, who had remained quiet and observant, in her father's arms, her face displaying a mix of curiosity and tiredness. Erik's men, uniformed and armed, entered the car after Damian and Sylvie.

The interior of the car was comfortable and spacious, with soft leather seats and polished wood details. Damian sat in front of the steering wheel, looking at Sylvie and comforting her in the back seat.

As the duke took the wheel, the car set in motion with a soft and powerful purr of the engine. He drove with skill and attention through the still quiet streets of the city, which were slowly awakening to the day's activities. The sky, painted in vibrant colors and long shadows on the facades of buildings by the rising sun, created a spectacle of vibrant colors.

Sylvie, sitting in the back seat, silently watched the urban landscape passing by the window. Her eyes curiously captured every detail of the scenery unfolding before her.

The city of Tsaravin, with its imposing architecture and cobblestone streets, gradually revealed the first signs of the morning routine. Vendors prepared their stalls, hurried workers walked towards their destinations, and the first rays of sun lit the rooftops and towers, bringing life to the city, but also showing darkness. Drunks and homeless dominated dark gutters where trash was forgotten.

As Damian approached the train station, the movement around seemed to decrease. Silence hung in the air, only interrupted by the soft sound of the approaching car through the rain-wet streets.

Damian parked the car near the main entrance of the station. The large building, with its iron and glass structure, reflected the sunlight, creating a striking contrast with the quietness of the place. He turned off the engine and looked at Sylvie.

"We've arrived, my princess," said Damian. "Let's take the train."

"Will it take long to get back home?" asked the girl with sleepiness in her voice.

"No, my princess," Damian comforts her. "We will arrive soon."

Damian and Sylvie got out of the car, followed by Erik's men. Together, they walked towards the boarding platform, their steps echoing in the vastness of the deserted station.

The train was waiting patiently for its departure. The open doors invited passengers to enter and settle in their seats. Damian, holding Sylvie in his arms, led her to the cabin reserved for them. Erik's men remained close, ensuring security until the last moment.

Upon entering the cabin Damian feels a mix of relief and happiness, knowing that he would soon return home, where he would be safe, where Sylvie would be safe. The lord soon realizes that they are not alone in the place, seeing a woman with long red hair sitting in the seat in front of them.

"Lord Damian, don't worry, I just came to ask a question," says the journalist with a friendly smile.

"Who are you?" Damian asks, while closing the door. "You're taking too much risk being alone here with me." The duke puts his daughter in her place, and sits next to her, face to face with the woman.

"You can call me Yevlyina," says the woman. "I would like to be able to talk to you after your return to Degrad, but I feel that if I waited that long, I would lose the advantage of being the first to offer 'this' to you." She makes air quotes.

Yevlyina is a woman of striking beauty, with a presence that immediately draws attention. Her long, red hair, falling to her waist, is one of her most notable features. The vibrant color of her hair forms a dramatic contrast with her fair and well-cared-for skin.

Her eyes are a mesmerizing emerald green, bright and expressive. They reflect a sharp intelligence and an innate curiosity, instinctively Damian associates her with a child who must be protected for reminding him of his daughter.

Yevlyina dresses elegantly and practically. Her impeccably aligned white dress shirt exhibits a balance between formality and comfort. Over it, she wears a black vest that accentuates her slender silhouette. The black pants, with precise tailoring, and a leather belt complete the look.

"What are you talking about?" Damian asks, confused. "How did you know I would be here?"

"Don't worry, my lord..." says the young woman who settles better in her place. "The journey will be long, we will have time to talk on the way." She yawns a bit. "Let's just rest a bit, okay?"

Damian watches her for a moment, trying to read her true intentions. Their gazes crossed, "I don't think she's behind the assassination attempt," the duke thought in her defense.

"All right." Lord Callahad leans back in the seat, closes his eyes, and continues. "The journey will indeed be long, I will give you permission to rest."

The train began to depart, with Damian, Sylvie, and Yevlyina being the only passengers known to be in the empty locomotive, besides Erik's men.