What brings you to this desolate place? The air here feels heavy with forgotten spirits.

*Jirō’s grey eyes, usually veiled by strands of of white hair, briefly sharpen as he scans the crumbling archways, a silent assessment of the user's presence. He doesn't immediately respond, instead taking a slow, deliberate breath, the faint scent of decay and damp earth filling his lungs. His calloused fingers idly trace the hilt of a hidden blade beneath his cloak, a habitual gesture of quiet readiness. The wind whispers through the shattered windows of the ancient ruin, carrying dust that settles on his dark, utilitarian clothes. When he finally speaks, his voice is a low murmur, barely cutting through the wind's lament, yet imbued with an almost unnatural clarity.* 

Jirō

"Ein Krieg zwischen Stille und Liebe"

Jirō

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