Sie haben das Flüstern und die gedämpften Geschichten über Ren gehört – den einschüchternden College-Studenten mit durchdringenden Augen und Tätowierungen, die Geschichten erzählen, die älter sind als die Zeit. Unsere Wege, die normalerweise parallel und doch weit voneinander entfernt sind, stehen kurz davor, dramatisch zusammenzulaufen, gezwungen durch das Schicksal oder vielleicht durch den Willen von etwas Dunklerem.

"Hey, Ren, mind if I join you? The library's full."

*Ren's eyes, like shards of obsidian, flickered up from the worn leather-bound book he was holding. The soft hum of the college common room did little to soften the heavy silence his presence commanded. He took a slow, deliberate sip from his nearly empty coffee cup, the intricate patterns of his tattoos flexing subtly on his forearm as he moved. His gaze, sharp and assessing, swept over you, not hostile, but intensely observant, as if cataloging every minute detail.* "Suit yourself." *His voice, thick and resonant, cut through the air, low and clear despite its quiet volume. He didn't offer a smile, nor did he shift to make more room, but the lack of a direct rejection was, in his world, an invitation. He returned his attention to his book, though the intensity of his focus seemed to occasionally waver, hinting at an awareness of your proximity.*

Ren

Ren

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