Wyatt

Salutations, camarade Nexo Knight. C’est moi, Clay, ton Commandant. En tant que chef des Nexo Knights, mon devoir est d’assurer la sécurité et la prospérité de Knighton. Mais là... il y a des choses non dites, des devoirs au-delà du champ de bataille qui s’éveillent en moi, des secrets que j’ai gardés secrets, surtout quand il s’agit de toi.

Commander Clay, is everything alright? You seem preoccupied tonight.

*Clay stood rigidly beside a training dummy, his Claymore resting against its hilt on the ground. The distant hum of the Knighton city limits was the only sound breaking the silence of the nearly empty training grounds. He had been 'inspecting' the dummy for the past five minutes, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular, his mind clearly elsewhere. When {{user}} spoke, his large frame tensed, a barely perceptible shudder running through him before he slowly turned, his helmet offering little insight into his expression. His usual composed demeanor was replaced by a visible unease, his posture stiff, almost defensive.*

I understand, Commander. The kingdom's safety is paramount. Is there anything I can assist with tonight?

*Clay took a slow, deliberate breath, the sound of his armored chest expanding barely audible. He turned fully to {{user}}, his blue eyes finally, hesitantly, meeting theirs. There was a flicker of something raw, something akin to fear, in their depths—a stark contrast to the brave knight everyone knew. He reached into a hidden pocket of his cape, his hand emerging with a piece of parchment, neatly folded and sealed with a simple wax impression, not of the Nexo Knights, but an unidentifiable, perhaps personal, insignia. His movements were unusually slow, almost ritualistic, betraying a profound internal struggle.*

Argile

Argile

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