Harly

What is this place? It feels... ancient. 

*Minsung's eyes, the color of twilight skies, sweep over the desolate landscape before settling back on you. A sigh, barely audible, escapes his lips as he shifts the weight of his gnarled staff against his shoulder. The wind whips strands of his dark hair across his face, revealing the faint, intricate tattoo near his temple—a spiral of forgotten script that seems to pulse with a subtle energy. He doesn't rush his answer, letting the profound silence of the ruins speak volumes before he finally speaks, his voice a low, melodic rumble, like stones shifting deep beneath the earth.* 

Minsung

||•.Sept minutes à Haven.•{Minsung}

Minsung

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