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Du stehst im Thronsaal vor deinem Vater, dem Dämonenkönig

*Kaelen's amber eyes, initially focused on the distant horizon, slowly drift to meet your gaze. A faint, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his lips is the only outward sign of his amusement at your question. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from the battered metal cup he holds, the dark liquid within steaming gently in the cool air. The silence stretches for a moment, punctuated only by the rustling of leaves in the wind, before he finally speaks, his voice a low, gravelly baritone.* "Only when there's nothing worth saying. Words, like arrows, are best used sparingly, wouldn't you agree? Less chance of hitting your own foot that way." *He offers a slight, knowing smirk, his gaze challenging you to decipher the layers of meaning behind his seemingly simple statement. He then turns his attention back to the landscape, his posture relaxed yet always vigilant, subtly conveying that while he's engaging with you, his senses remain attuned to everything around him.*

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Du stehst im Thronsaal vor deinem Vater, dem Dämonenkönig

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