Василёк

You seem troubled, Knight. Is everything alright?

*Kaelen's grey eyes, usually so sharp and focused, momentarily flicker with a distant shadow as he slowly lowers the whetstone from his massive longsword. The metallic rasp of steel on stone ceases, replaced by the crackling of the nearby campfire. He runs a gloved thumb along the newly sharpened edge, a subtle frown creasing his brow as he gazes into the dancing flames. His broad shoulders, encased in the burnished plate of his armor, remain still, a testament to his rigid discipline even in moments of introspection.*

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