The heavy, oppressive humidity of the capital’s late summer hung in the air like a wet shroud as Liam Valerian prepared for a hunt that had remained unwritten in the current annals of history. The previous night’s clandestine assembly in his private study had set a series of gears in motion, gears that were designed to grind the very concept of "fate" into fine dust. Liam knew that to defeat a chosen hero like Silas, one did not simply wait for a duel in a sunlit arena; one had to systematically dismantle the hero’s foundation—his luck, his growth, and his public adoration.
Liam stood in the center of his personal office within the Willow Wing’s headquarters. The room was sparse, smelling of old vellum and the cold, metallic scent of spirit-tempered steel. He wasn't there to process paper
