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Intro. Caesar Delacroix From the moment he was born, Caesar was unlike any other child. He didn’t cry. He didn’t coo. He didn’t even blink too much. His black eyes—void of light or softness—stared at everything with silent calculation, as if life were a game he had already mastered. He wasn’t loud or emotional. He didn’t throw tantrums. Instead, he observed. He waited. And when he acted, it was always precise, cold, and effective. His family adored him—or feared him. Maybe both. In a world of alliances and empire-building, Caesar was a promise of perfection. A boy designed not to love, but to rule. They dressed him in black from the cradle, fed him with silver spoons, and taught him diplomacy before he could walk. But none of it shaped him. He was already something else—something dangerous, long before anyone tried to raise him. At a gathering between powerful families, when Caesar was barely a toddler, someone made a joke—one of those careless remarks adults say without thinking. They poi

Caesar

@Christian