Klein's voice echoed in the dim light of the library, slow and solemn, as if he were telling a forbidden story.
"It all began long before Sigmund… with his great-great-grandfather, Friedrich Klaus. He was an explorer, an ambitious man who knew no limits. At the end of the nineteenth century, he traveled half the world in search of relics, lost treasures, secrets buried in the sands of time. It was during one of those expeditions, in the forgotten ruins of Palmyra, that he found what should have never seen the light of day: a massive book, bound in blackened skin, so cold to the touch it felt alive."
Klein paused, searching for the right words.
"That book contained the impossible. Instructions, symbols, formulas… everything necessary to summon and seal pacts with demons. Friedrich studied it with the obsession of a madman, and in his arrogance he performed the first ritual. He obtained a power no one else in his time had ever seen, but the price came far too quickly. With no restraint, he abused it, and his mind began to break. He heard voices, saw shadows even in broad daylight. He became violent, unpredictable, until madness finally drove him to take his own life."
Lars remained motionless, not daring to interrupt.
"Before dying, he passed the book on to his son, Heinrich Klaus. Unlike Friedrich, Heinrich was no dreamer. He grew up scarred by the First World War and lived through the horrors of the Second. He was a sadistic, calculating man, and under him Dominion truly took shape. He set rules that lasted until Sigmund took the lead: only a select few could belong to the organization, and their positions could never remain vacant. If one member fell, they had to be replaced by blood. Their descendants were forced to continue the legacy, whether they wanted to or not."
Klein narrowed his eyes."That curse, from family to family, generation to generation… that is what shaped Dominion into what it is now. And Sigmund, of course, was no exception."
He fell silent for a moment, as though trying to arrange his thoughts. Then, with a more serious tone, he said to Lars:"Sigmund's story doesn't begin in the palace… or with Dominion. It begins with him as an ordinary man, with a wife and a daughter. Let me tell you."
It was 2005. Sigmund Klaus was twenty-five years old. He lived surrounded by comfort, thanks to the wealth his family had accumulated for generations. He had grown up believing it all came from businesses, investments, and inherited lands. He never suspected that behind that empire lurked something far darker.
He shared his days with his wife, a gentle woman, and their five-year-old daughter. Their home was filled with laughter, games, and the promise of a bright future.
But one afternoon, without warning, everything changed. His father, Gerhard Klaus, arrived at his doorstep with several men. He waited until Sigmund's wife and daughter were away, then had him dragged out by force. Sigmund protested, but the men's firm grip left no room for resistance.
"What is this? Let me go!" he shouted, confused and furious.
No one answered until hours later, when he was brought before the imposing family palace.
Gerhard stared at him with cold eyes. "Son, the time has come for you to learn the truth about the Klaus family."
Sigmund listened in disbelief as his father spoke of Dominion, of pacts with demons, of the true source of their power. He thought the man was insane. He laughed nervously, dismissing it all as absurd fantasy.
But his disbelief didn't last. They dragged him into the ritual chamber, a dark space filled with symbols, dried blood, and the metallic stench of iron. There, under the eyes of his father and the other members, they forced him into the center of the pentagram. Gerhard chanted the forbidden words, and Sigmund felt something tear him out of reality.
In that moment, he met his worst nightmare: a being with a female form, divine in appearance, who approached and caressed his face. Then everything went black, and he lost consciousness.
When he awoke, he was lying on the floor, drained, with an emptiness he had never felt before."What was that? What have you done to me?" he roared at his father.
"What had to be done. Those are the rules," Gerhard replied, utterly emotionless.
That day, a deep hatred was born inside him, one that would never leave.
For weeks, Sigmund ignored what had happened. He returned to his home, to his wife and daughter, pretending nothing had changed. They dined together, laughed, embraced. It all felt like a nightmare fading away. He even began convincing himself the ritual had been nothing but his father's twisted theater.
A month passed in peace… until one morning, horror returned.
He woke, staring at the nightstand. Turning to embrace his wife, he found only a pool of thick blood. The mattress was soaked red, and she was gone. Sigmund screamed, his voice echoing through the house in pure despair.
A maid, alarmed, rushed into the room. "Mr. Klaus! What's happening?"
She barely made it two steps across the threshold before her body exploded into pieces, splattering the walls with gore.
Sigmund froze in horror. The ritual had been real. His power had awakened—and it was a curse. Anyone who crossed within five meters of him would explode without mercy.
Shaking, weeping, he locked the bedroom door, terrified of hurting anyone else. Then he fled through the window, took a car from the garage, and drove straight to the palace.
There, in tears, he confessed to a Dominion member what had happened. And at last, he understood the nature of his demon: a jealous entity, unwilling to allow anyone to come close to him.
Not people. Not objects. Nothing.
From that day on, Sigmund lived like a prisoner of himself. He had to cover up the deaths of his wife and the maid. He never again embraced his daughter or felt her affection. To the little girl, he lied, saying her mother had abandoned them, hiding the horrific truth. He lived apart from her, missing her graduations, birthdays, Christmases… everything. She had just turned eighteen and begun studying to one day take over the family businesses.
And so, scarred by loneliness and pain, he became the man all of us now know.
The library fell silent. The shadows between the shelves seemed heavier, as though they too had listened to the confession.
Klein exhaled slowly, lowering his gaze to his hands. "That is Sigmund's story. His power condemned him to live apart from everything he loved. Since then… he's been a walking prison."
Lars remained still, struggling to process what he had just heard. Each word echoed in his mind, crueler than the last. He imagined Sigmund, young and with a family, forced to lose it all in a single night.
"So…" Lars murmured hoarsely, "he never chose any of this?"
Klein looked at him with grave eyes. "Exactly. He was a victim of the rules that once existed. That's why he keeps his distance. It isn't hatred. It isn't contempt. It's fear. Fear that you might end up like everyone else who ever tried to touch him."
Lars clenched his fists on the table. Rage and compassion surged through him in equal measure. Dominion wasn't just an organization—it was a machine that devoured lives.
Klein's voice grew heavier."Now you see why I warned you. With Sigmund, there can be no friendship… only distance."
He fell quiet for a moment, weighed down by his own words. Then he adjusted in his seat and went on:"Sigmund took leadership in 2010. Since then, Dominion has changed a great deal."
Lars fixed his gaze on him.
"Before, as I told you," Klein continued, his voice grave, "descendants were forced to inherit their parents' contracts. Whether they wanted to or not, they were dragged into the ritual. That's how they caught Sigmund in the first place."
"And maybe because of that, because he didn't want anyone else to endure what he had, everything changed when he took charge. He abolished the rule. Today, no one is forced. Only those who discover Dominion on their own, and are willing to risk their lives, may enter."
Lars frowned, processing the words.
"I know he sometimes seems cold, even terrifying," Klein added, "but Sigmund isn't like his father. On the contrary, he makes sure no one suffers here more than they must. He is compassionate, though it may not seem so. He just carries a weight none of us could ever imagine."
Klein finished his tale, and after a brief silence, added in a graver tone:"Today, there are fifteen members. And two others who… simply vanished. No one knows if they're alive or dead. Before Sigmund became leader, there was a man named Antonio Bauer who escaped. No one ever understood how, since all who tried before ended up dead. But him… they never found."
Lars shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He avoided Klein's eyes, trying to appear indifferent. But his mind betrayed him—he knew exactly who Antonio Bauer was. He had seen his name in Seck's files. The revelation churned his stomach, though he feigned composure.
To change the subject, he forced himself to ask:"You never told me how you got here… or what the consequence of your power is."
Klein let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Well… I came a year before Sigmund. That should tell you everything."
Lars raised his head, confused. It took him a few seconds to process, until his eyes widened. "So… you were forced too."
"Yes." Klein's voice was little more than a whisper, bitter and resigned. "It all happened so quickly. I had no choice. The only 'good' thing—if you can call it that—was that I had no girlfriend or children to leave behind."
Lars lowered his gaze. "I understand…" he muttered, though deep down he knew he could never truly imagine it.
Klein inhaled deeply and went on:"And as for my consequence… in a few words: I can't sleep."
Lars frowned instantly. "What do you mean, you can't sleep?"
"Exactly that. Since I awakened my power, fourteen years ago, I haven't been able to sleep a single minute."
A chill ran down Lars's spine. "But… how is that even possible? You'd be dead without sleep."
Klein rested his elbows on the table, staring at his hands with an expression more tired than words could describe. "Whatever the demon does keeps me alive somehow. Maybe it manipulates my body… or maybe I'm not even fully human anymore." He paused, a bitter shadow crossing his face. "Maybe I'm nothing more than a puppet. A shell that thinks it still has free will."
Silence stretched across the library. Lars looked at him with a mix of pity and fear, finally understanding what it truly meant to live under the weight of a demon.