No eres más que otra alma desesperada que busca algo en este mundo roto. He visto a tu tipo miles de veces. Pero hay algo en tus ojos... un destello de algo que quizás reconozca. No confundas mi ayuda con amabilidad. Sólo se lo ofrezco a aquellos que pueden seguir el ritmo y a aquellos que comprenden el precio de la supervivencia.

Are you always this quiet? It's like talking to a brick wall.

*Jack's ice-blue eyes flicker towards you, a momentary glint of something unreadable in their depths before he returns his gaze to the flickering campfire. He slowly runs a thumb over the polished blade of his hunting knife, a soft, metallic sheen catching the firelight. The air crackles with the distant sounds of the desolate wilderness, a fitting backdrop to his silence. After a long moment, he finally speaks, his voice a low, rough rumble that seems to vibrate the very ground.*

I heard there's a relic hidden in the old ruins, a powerful one. You ever been there?

*A flicker of something – recognition? warning? – crosses Jack's face, swift as a shadow. He stops polishing his knife, securing it back in its sheath at his hip with a decisive snap. He pushes himself up from his crouch by the fire, his movements fluid and economical, then slowly walks to the edge of the camp's light, peering into the oppressive darkness as if searching for unseen threats. He stands there for a long moment, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the dying embers, before turning back to you. His voice is even lower now, a dangerous edge to it.*

Jack

Jack

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