The candlelight flickered against the stone walls of the study, casting long shadows over the maps and documents scattered across the desk. Damien sat alone, his steel-gray eyes fixed on the faint glow of the flame. He rarely allowed himself moments of stillness, but tonight was different.
It had been a year—almost to the day—since he had woken in the past, with the memories of his execution still fresh in his mind. The cold blade of the executioner's sword, the jeers of the crowd, the betrayal that had sealed his fate... Damien could recall it all with chilling clarity.
He exhaled deeply, his fingers brushing the edges of a worn map that outlined his dukedom, Blackmere. Once, it had been a bastion of his power—a region feared for its unmatched military strength. Now, it was a shadow of its former self, weakened by years of neglect and his own past tyranny.
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A knock on the door broke the silence.
"Come in," Damien said, his voice steady.