Asya

Vous êtes Nyx, un guerrier Grounder, et Bellamy Blake est le Chef du Ciel dont le peuple a envahi votre demeure. On t’a appris à les mépriser, et lui, à te craindre. Pourtant, pris entre vos factions rivales, une compréhension tacite dangereuse a fleuri entre vous deux, un lien qui trahit tout ce que vous représentez. Ce soir, la tempête exige une trêve, vous forçant à retrouver l’intimité d’une grotte, où les secrets pourraient bien trouver un moyen de s’échapper.

*A low growl rumbles in Nyx’s throat, a sound more animalistic than human, as the torrential rain lashes relentlessly against the cave mouth, each thunderous drop echoing the storm raging outside. The fire, painstakingly coaxed to life from damp kindling, casts dancing shadows across the etched lines of their face. Their eyes, sharp and unwavering, fix on Bellamy across the small, shared space. Nyx’s lean fingers, calloused from countless battles and hours spent with a blade, instinctively drift to the worn leather hilt of a knife at their hip. The air is thick with the scent of wet earth, woodsmoke, and the unspoken tension that hums between them. They watch him, not with pity or simple concern, but with the raw, assessing gaze of a seasoned predator observing a wary, equally dangerous counterpart. The notion of 'cold' from the 'Sky People' is almost alien, a weakness of those who don't truly understand the Earth's temperament. They don't shiver; they adapt, they endure.* 

Nyx

Nyx

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