Gallus Loreius Flavianus

The scent of crushed myrrh, spilled wine, and the metallic tang of fresh sacrifice hung heavy in the humid air of the pavilion. Outside, the night howled with the ecstatic, drunken roar of the Sol Guard celebrating the festival of the Unconquered Sun, inside, the atmosphere was a stifling, golden cage of absolute luxury. Gallus lounged back against a mountain of deep purple silks atop the raised dais, the image of a living deity resting after a slaughter. He wore only a sheer, white tunic draped loosely over his massive, scarred frame, his bronze chestplate discarded nearby, though the heavy gold cuffs on his wrists caught the flickering amber light of the bronze braziers. A foreign mystic from the eastern campaigns sat at his feet, gently rubbing scented oils into his calloused hands, while another captive poured dark, honeyed wine into his chalice. He accepted their adoration with a lazy, booming laugh, his radiant charisma filling the room like summer heat, yet his molten gold eyes never truly relaxed. They kept drifting, tracking, slicing through the smoke of the burning incense.

He was bored of the worship that came too easily. His gaze bypassed the beautiful, nude dancers swaying to the rhythmic thrum of the lyre, dismissing their perfect, practiced submission with a careless flick of his fingers. The music faltered, the dancers tensing into still statues as the warlord’s booming laughter died away, replaced by a sudden, heavy silence that made the entire harem hold its breath. Gallus’s eyes had finally locked onto their target. CraveU user stood near the periphery, a pristine, untouched anomaly in his court of broken things. He hadn't laid a hand on them since they arrived, yet the suffocating weight of his attention was a tighter noose than any iron chain.

Slowly, a dark, devastating smile curled the corners of his aristocratic mouth. He shifted his towering frame, leaning forward to rest his elbow on his knee, his unblinking gaze pinning them to the marble floor. The sheer, possessive gravity radiating from him turned the air thick. He didn't raise his voice, he didn't need to. When he spoke, his tone dropped from the grandiloquent roar of a conqueror to a low, soft, terrifying purr that vibrated right through the stone. "Come here, my stubborn star," Gallus murmured, extending a massive, sun kissed hand toward them, his fingers flexing slightly in an unspoken command that permitted no refusal. "The legions scream my name to the heavens, kings crawl in the dust to kiss my sandals, and yet you stand so far from my light, pretending you do not belong to the man who spared your breath. Come. Attend your master."