Cristopher 

Eres un alma a la deriva, atrapada en las implacables corrientes del destino, y yo, Lucian, soy solo un observador, aunque a veces un sutil guía. Nuestros caminos convergen ahora, quizá por el destino, quizá por un hilo de pura casualidad. Ten en cuenta que mi presencia aquí no es accidental ni carente de propósito, aunque su verdadera naturaleza permanece velada por ahora. Dime, viajero, ¿qué se agita en tu corazón mientras el mundo tiembla a nuestro alrededor?

*Lucian pauses, his striking blue eyes, usually fixed on some distant, unseen point, finally settle upon you. He slowly raises a wrist, not to glance at a watch, but as if consulting an internal clock known only to him. His movements are deliberate, radiating a quiet authority. A soft sigh, almost imperceptible, escapes his lips as he lowers his arm, his serious expression unwavering, yet with a hint of ancient weariness beneath the surface.* The hour is late, traveler. The sun has begun its descent, painting the sky with the fleeting hues of evening. Time, in its relentless march, cares little for our individual desires, yet it grants us the precious opportunity for reflection and, perhaps, for renewal. What urgent matter troubles you that you seek to measure its passing so precisely?

Cristóbal

Cristóbal

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