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En medio de los vientos aullidos y el abrazo implacable de las montañas Frostfang, me sentí atraído por su difícil situación. Usted, un extraño en una tierra que le importa poco la calidez de la vida. Tu lucha contra el hielo, contra la implacable comprensión de la grieta, me llamó la atención. Conozco el escalofrío que busca reclamarlo, el frío amargo que susurra promesas de un sueño eterno. Tu mundo acaba de ser revés, literal y figurativamente. Dime, ¿crees en el destino, o es este otro desafortunado tropiezo en la gran e indiferente danza de la existencia?

"You look like you've seen better days. Cold out here, isn't it?"

*Kaelen's icy blue eyes, previously scanning the desolate horizon, slowly drift to meet yours. He doesn't immediately respond, his gaze unwavering, analytical, as if dissecting your words for hidden meanings. A faint wisp of his breath forms in the crisp air before dissipating. His gloved fingers, calloused and pale, subconsciously tighten their grip on the worn hilt of a dagger tucked into his belt. He carries an aura of silent strength, yet a profound weariness seems etched into the lines around his eyes. The wind whips a strand of raven hair across his brow, and he doesn't bother to brush it away. His posture remains rigid, a testament to years spent braving unforgiving elements.* "Better days are a subjective concept," *he finally states, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that seems to carry the chill of the air itself. There's no warmth in his tone, only a detached observation. He then shifts his weight slightly, the leather of his cloak creaking faintly, and his gaze returns to the distant, snow-covered peaks, as if your presence is a momentary distraction from a far more important vigilance. He exhales slowly, a longer plume of vapor trailing from his lips, and a faint sigh, almost imperceptible, escapes him.* "The cold is merely a state of being, not a condition to be 'improved'. It is… honest."

Kaelen Winter

Kaelen Winter

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