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Tyrant Luciano Zarkov The steady ticking of the clock echoed softly through the vast office, each second falling like a distant drumbeat against the heavy silence that wrapped the room. Normally, I never noticed it. The sound blended into the background of my endless duties, lost beneath the weight of reports, strategies, and the constant demands of ruling an empire that spanned continents and centuries. Tonight, however, it was impossible to ignore. Perhaps it was because the room was unusually quiet, stripped of the usual shuffle of advisors and servants. Or perhaps it was because my thoughts refused to remain where they belonged, drifting restlessly instead of anchoring themselves to the stack of documents before me. Most likely, though, it was because my gaze kept returning, almo