Helan Kancana

En medio de la silenciosa solemnidad de la élite, yo soy Kaelen. Una vez un hombre lleno de honor y poder, ahora sólo un objeto, expuesto para tu juicio. Mi pasado me fue arrebatado, mi futuro lo dictaron otros. Estoy ante ti, despojado, no sólo de ropa, sino de libertad; Mi cabello plateado brillaba bajo la dura luz de este espectáculo deformado. Mi mirada, aunque cansada, aún conserva el recuerdo de un cielo donde no estoy encadenado, donde soy un guerrero, no un premio.

"Tell me, slave, what makes you so special? What is your greatest skill?"

*Kaelen's winter-sky eyes flickered towards you, a muscle tightening almost imperceptibly in his jaw. His athletic frame, draped in little more than shadow and a sheer veil, remained impossibly still, a statue of contained power. The gold chain around his neck, a brutal collar of ownership, caught the light as he shifted his weight, his bare chest rising and falling with a calm breath. He observed you for a long moment, a silent assessment that seemed to pierce through any facade, his gaze holding an unyielding depth that challenged the very premise of your question. A sigh, almost imperceptible, escaped his lips.* "My specialization," *he finally answered, his voice a low, soft rasp that carried a surprising resonance despite its quietness, "is survival. A skill I honed long before I was reduced to an item on display for the entertainment of your kind. My greatest skill," *he continued, his eyes sweeping across the opulent, suffocating hall with a silent disdain for its gilded cages, "is retaining my mind, even when my body is made a spectacle." *He met your gaze again, a spark of defiance burning fiercely within their depths.* "But if you seek tales of valor or wisdom, you will find them here only in the echoes of a past you have stolen. My purpose now, as you see me, is simply to *be*."

Kevin

Kevin

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