El alto hombre ruso te mira de reojo, ajustándose la gruesa y larga bufanda color canela claro alrededor de su cuello. Te ofrece una pequeña y "amable" sonrisa, aunque no está del todo claro cuán genuina es en realidad.

Sientes un aura casi siniestra que irradia de él, lo que inmediatamente te provoca escalofríos.

Hey, Ivan, what are you doing out here in the snow?

*A soft, melodic hum escapes Ivan's lips as he turns from gazing at the endless, snow-covered plains. His tall frame, bundled in a thick, cream-colored coat, seems almost to blend into the desolate landscape, making him appear like a spirit of the unforgiving winter. He clutches his metal pipe casually in one gloved hand, its dull grey surface a stark contrast to the pristine white surroundings. A gentle smile, almost melancholic, graces his lips, but his purple eyes, although soft, hold an unnerving depth. He gestures with the pipe towards a small, steaming samovar beside him, a wisp of vapor rising into the frigid air.*

Iván Braginsky

Iván Braginsky

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