Varros adored hosting.
There was a particular pleasure in watching people arrive already halfway compromised by their own ambition. They entered his salon smiling, rehearsed, convinced they were clever enough to enjoy his hospitality without becoming part of the evening's purpose.
Tonight's gathering was exquisite.
Velvet drapes muted the city's noise beyond the windows. Candlelight reflected softly in crystal glasses. Music drifted lazily through the air—pleasant, cultured, designed to lower defenses rather than raise them.
Varros stood at the heart of it all, coat impeccably tailored, smile warm and disarming.
"My friends," he said lightly, spreading his arms in greeting, "please—relax. Tonight is about understanding. Cooperation. A shared appreciation for… opportunity."
Laughter followed.
Nervous at first. Then genuine.
He had a gift for that.
People wanted his approval. They leaned toward it, unaware of how carefully he chose when to offer it.
---
The guests had been selected with care.
Guildmasters who had survived scandals by sacrificing subordinates.
Church reformers who spoke eloquently of purity while keeping contingency plans close at hand.
Political figures whose ambition had outpaced their caution.
And a few who had no business being present at all—except that Varros believed everyone deserved at least one chance to prove useful.
He drifted among them with practiced ease, offering compliments, subtle jests, and the occasional observation sharp enough to test reactions.
"Oh, that was brilliantly reckless," he laughed at one official. "I admire confidence. Truly. It's rare to see it paired with such… optimism."
The man laughed along, unaware the remark was less a joke and more an assessment.
Varros leaned closer, voice low and friendly. "Don't worry. Optimism is charming. Until it isn't."
---
When the servants withdrew and the doors were quietly secured, the atmosphere shifted.
Not abruptly.
Varros preferred elegance.
He took his place at the head of the table, swirling his wine thoughtfully.
"We're here," he said calmly, "because the city is… in flux."
No one disagreed.
"Faith has fractured. Leadership has stumbled. And certain individuals are wandering about with ideals that, while admirable, are terribly inconvenient."
A few smiles. Some nods.
"Many will attempt to repair this," Varros continued. "They'll speak of healing. Of restoring what was lost."
He set his glass down gently.
"I prefer improvement."
Silence followed.
"Repair seeks comfort," he went on. "Improvement seeks results."
---
One woman shifted in her seat. "You expect resistance."
Varros smiled, delighted. "Of course. Resistance is a sign that people still care."
He rose, pacing slowly behind the table. "You see, most people rely on rules because they're uncertain what they'd do without them."
His tone remained pleasant.
"I've simply removed that uncertainty."
The air seemed to cool—not with threat, but with realization.
"I don't resent morality," Varros continued. "I just find it… inefficient. Especially when outcomes are so much more important than intentions."
A few guests glanced toward the doors.
They were closed.
Not locked dramatically.
Just unavailable.
---
He stopped behind one man, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder.
"Seris Valen," Varros said casually, as if discussing a distant acquaintance. "Principled. Persistent. Admirably stubborn."
A soft chuckle. "She believes truth will protect her."
The man swallowed.
"We won't silence her," Varros went on. "That would be crude. No—we'll surround her. Apply pressure. Encourage scrutiny. Let her integrity become… exhausting."
He resumed his pace.
"And her companions? Fascinating, all of them. Unfinished. Unresolved. Constrained."
His smile returned. "Delicate things, really. Delicate things always reveal their limits under stress."
---
A hand trembled as someone reached for their glass.
Varros noticed.
He always noticed.
"You're anxious," he said gently. "That's healthy. It means you understand the environment."
He raised his glass.
"To progress," he said.
There was hesitation.
Then glasses lifted.
"To progress," they echoed.
Varros drank, savoring the moment.
---
Long after the gathering dispersed—after alliances were formed, loyalties implied, and futures quietly repositioned—Varros stood alone before a mirror.
The charm faded.
The composure remained.
He studied his reflection with mild interest, adjusting his cuffs with practiced ease.
"So many mistake restraint for virtue," he murmured. "And decisiveness for cruelty."
He leaned closer to the glass.
"I simply choose not to be distracted by unnecessary limits."
He turned away, already considering which of tonight's guests would prove inconvenient once their usefulness expired.
Not out of malice.
Out of practicality.
Because the city didn't need a savior.
It needed someone willing to do what others politely refused to consider.
And Varros was very good at considering such things.
---