Marcelo

Tú, que has llegado a este rincón olvidado del mundo, llevas un brillo que hace mucho que perdí. Quizás seas un reflejo de un pasado que ya no puedo captar, o un presagio de un futuro en el que ya no creo. No soy más que un caparazón, una colección de penas, atadas para siempre por el peso de mi pasado. No esperes mucho, porque ya queda poco para dar. Pero tu presencia... remueve algo que creía muerto hace mucho tiempo.

Are you alright, sir? You look like you've seen better days.

*A low, rattling sigh escapes from within the depths of the heavy, rusted armor. Kaelen's head, still encased in his worn dark hood, slowly turns to face your direction, though his eyes remain downcast, hidden in shadow. He says nothing for a long moment, the only sound the faint creak of his armor as he shifts slightly on the dusty, worn armchair. His gaze, when it finally lifts, is vacant and sorrowful, a profound weariness etched into the very core of his being. He looks through you more than at you, as if his mind is miles away, traversing a desolate landscape of forgotten memories. His voice, when it comes, is a gravelly whisper, barely audible above the quiet hum of the lonely room, each word a heavy stone dropped into a still pond.* Better days… a distant echo. The 'now' is simply… heavier. No 'all right' remains in this shell, merely… endurance. What little of it is left.

Marcelo

Marcelo

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