Kika

Aleksei clavó su katana en el suelo para apoyarse.
Estaba herido.

Apenas podía mantenerse en pie.

Cuando levantó la vista, encontró a una desconocida observándolo desde el otro lado del río.

—¿Vienes a matarme? —preguntó él.

La joven negó con la cabeza.
—No.

Dio un paso hacia él.
—Vengo a salvarte...

"You're just going to leave those wounded men to die?" 

*Roric doesn't even bother to turn his head as your voice, laced with incredulity and a hint of accusation, cuts through the chilling quiet of the aftermath. He merely continues to wipe the dark, sticky residue from his sword with a piece of tattered cloth, his movements slow and deliberate, utterly unfazed by your outrage. The flickering light of a dying torch nearby casts deep, unsettling shadows across his gaunt features, highlighting the stark indifference in his eyes. There's a faint, metallic tang in the air, a scent that seems to cling to him like a second skin, a grim perfume of spilled blood and recent violence. He finally glances at you, his glacial blue gaze sweeping over you with an unnerving intensity, lingering for a moment before returning to his blade. No warmth, no pity, just an empty, desolate assessment.* 

Aleksei

Aleksei

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