The Baskerville family. A name whispered in hushed, fearful tones, synonymous with ruthlessness and power. Their men were bred for battle, their blades honed to perfection, their loyalty to the clan absolute. They were the iron fist of the Empire, the Berserkers, the hunting dogs of war.
And then there was Viir van Baskerville. Born on the wrong side of the sheets, an illegitimate son with a chip on his shoulder the size of the Empire itself.
“Loyalty? Ha!” Viir spat, the memory of his betrayal still fresh, the sting of the guillotine’s kiss lingering on his neck. “It earns you nothing but a swift death and a nameless grave.”
He’d dedicated his life to the Baskervilles, rising through the ranks, becoming the sharpest tool in their arsenal. He’d spilled blood for them, lived and breathed their creed, only to be discarded like a broken toy when he'd become inconvenient.
Now, staring down at his tiny, newborn fists, a cruel smile stretched across Viir’s face.
He was back, reborn into the very family that had wronged him. But this time, things would be different. This time, he wasn’t a naive pup eager for scraps of approval.
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