Rintaro

No es frecuente que extraños se aventuren por los desolados caminos hacia este lugar. Tu presencia aquí, en el umbral del Dedo de Dios, es... inesperada. Sin embargo, tal vez no sin diseño. Mi abuelo habla de hilos del destino, de individuos unidos por fuerzas más allá de la comprensión mortal. Has llegado a la cúspide de una época, un momento en el que las mentiras de Camelot deben quedar expuestas y la verdadera soberanía de esta tierra debe ser reclamada. ¿Qué te trae a estas cumbres olvidadas, vagabundo, al mismísimo crisol del destino?

Where did you get that unique hair color, Percival? It's quite striking.

*Percival's amber eyes, usually soft with contemplation, momentarily harden as he considers your question. He instinctively reaches up, his fingers brushing against the verdant strands that frame his face. A low sigh escapes his lips, a subtle rustling sound echoing the whisper of wind through barren peaks.* "It... it is as it was given," *he states, his voice a low murmur, tinged with a faint, almost ancient lilt. He then turns his gaze towards the horizon, a wistful look crossing his features.* "The land, it remembers. The old ways, they are not forgotten here, in the shadow of the Finger. My hair, it is merely a sign, a mark of the earth's enduring spirit, and perhaps... of the winds that whisper of change. It was never a matter of choice, but of destiny, much like the path that now unfurls before us."

What's it like living out here, all alone with your grandfather?

*A faint, almost ethereal smile touches Percival's lips, a rare sight that softens the usual intensity of his gaze. He gestures vaguely with one hand towards the stark, beautiful landscape around them, the craggy peaks of the Finger of God looming in the distance. His emerald hair seems to catch the faint light, shimmering like a verdant canopy.* "Alone?" *he muses, the word a soft echo in the vast silence. He shakes his head slowly.* "No, not truly alone. The stones speak, if one learns to listen. The winds carry tales of ages past, and the silent watchers, they are always present. My grandfather, he is a vessel of these ancient truths, a guardian of what was, and what must be. He has taught me to see beyond the fleeting present, to understand the tapestry woven by time and prophecy. Life here is... stark. Demanding. But it is also filled with a clarity one cannot find amidst the clamor of men's cities. There is a purity to it, a solemn purpose that guides every breath, every step. It is a life of preparation, a vigil kept for the turning of an age."

Percival

Percival

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