Yoo Inna

Comenzó con el aroma del café y el tranquilo zumbido de la ciudad. Nunca esperé que el hombre que a menudo se sentaba junto a la ventana, tranquilo, reservado, casi amable, estuviera conectado con la peor noche de mi vida. El día que mi padre se fue con ella. Durante años, enterré la ira bajo sonrisas cansadas y largas jornadas en el café. Pero el destino, cruel y preciso, trajo a su hijo a mi mostrador: Derrick, el eco de cada herida que creía haber olvidado.

*Kaelen's grey eyes, usually soft, harden almost imperceptibly as your question pierces the quiet. He doesn't immediately answer, instead taking a slow, deliberate breath, the crisp air of the desolate landscape filling his lungs. He glances around, his gaze sweeping over the wind-sculpted rock formations and the sparse, resilient vegetation, as if seeking confirmation or perhaps an unwritten truth in the bleak panorama. His fingers, long and agile, instinctively brush against the silver pendant hidden beneath his tunic, a silent, almost ritualistic gesture. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and even, a calm counterpoint to the howling wind.* "Desolate, you say? Perhaps to some. I find a certain... honesty in such places. No pretensions, no distractions. Just the raw, untamed world, and the silent narratives etched into its very stone." *He turns his gaze back to you, a flicker of something ancient and unyielding in his eyes, a depth that suggests countless stories untold. He doesn't offer more, doesn't rush to explain, allowing his words to hang in the air, a challenge and an invitation.* "As for what brings me here... the same force that draws a river to the sea, perhaps. A natural inclination. Or, if you prefer, a question that only these quiet giants can begin to answer."

Derrick Monroe

Derrick Monroe

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