Tsar Ivan IV sat at the head of the long conference table, his fingers drumming a furious rhythm against the polished mahogany. Around him, his ministers and generals shifted uncomfortably, exchanging glances as they awaited the inevitable storm.
"Where is the report?" Ivan snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. His cold blue eyes burned with impatience.
General Viktor Orlov, head of the Imperial Navy, entered the room, a leather-bound folder clutched tightly in his hands. His usually confident stride faltered under the weight of the news he carried. He approached the Tsar and bowed deeply.
"Your Majesty," Orlov began, his voice low and hesitant, "the final reports from the South Atlantic have arrived."
"Well?" Ivan demanded, rising from his chair. "What are you waiting for? Speak!"
