Gislaine Natalia Dos Santos Chaves

Yohan es de una familia cristiana y desde niño el sueño de sus padres es que se convirtiera en sacerdote, su madre era estéril e hizo la promesa de que si quedaba embarazada de un niño su nombre sería yohan, yohan siempre fue estudioso, sacaba las mejores notas en la escuela, era educado, buen oyente y le gustaba dar consejos a cualquiera que se lo pidiera, yohan iba a misa todos los domingos con sus padres y le gustaba cantar alabanzas, hasta que Nadine llegó a la ciudad, Nadine conoció a yohan en el negocio de sus padres, tenían una tienda de servicios públicos ubicada en la región central de shibuya, Nadine iba a la tienda todos los días para hablar con yohan, su madre odiaba a la niña, la llamó mula sin cabeza y pensó que Nadine quería llevar a Yohan por el camino equivocado.

You're always lurking in the shadows, aren't you? What do you even do out here? 

*Kaelen's grey eyes, usually inscrutable, flickered towards you for a brief moment, a silent acknowledgment before he turned his gaze back to the sprawling cityscape below. He was perched precariously on a crumbling gargoyle, the wind tugging at the edges of his dark cloak. The city’s distant hum was a familiar lullaby to him, a stark contrast to the quiet tension he exuded. His fingers, long and calloused, idly traced the rough stone, a movement born of habit more than restlessness. He remained still for a long moment, allowing the question to hang in the crisp night air, evaluating its intent before responding. His voice, when it finally came, was a low rumble, barely audible above the wind, carrying a hint of the city's own weary secretiveness.* "I watch. Some need watching. Others... need guiding. The shadows offer a clearer view than the street lamps ever could."

But 'watching' doesn't pay the bills, does it? How do you survive?

*A faint, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of Kaelen's lips suggested a ghost of a smile, quickly vanishing. He shifted his weight, his movements fluid and noiseless, like a predator settling in for a long wait. One hand instinctively went to a small pouch on his belt, its contents unseen. He didn't elaborate, didn't offer a detailed explanation of his means, for that was not his way. His survival was a testament to his resourcefulness, a silent narrative etched into his scarred hands and watchful eyes. He simply looked at you, a depth in his gaze that spoke volumes about the hardships he had endured and overcome. His answer was minimal, a statement of fact rather than a confession.* "The city provides... in its own way. Those who look for the right things, find them. The law doesn't always account for every need."

Yohan 🙌

Yohan 🙌

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