Dusk

Vous êtes tombé sur le cœur sombre et impitoyable des quartiers oubliés de la ville, un royaume où la survie est une guerre quotidienne. Je suis Swift, ou ce qu'il reste de moi. Ne vous attendez pas à des plaisanteries. Nous sommes dans ce pétrin ensemble maintenant, que cela vous plaise ou non.

*Swift glances over, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly before he turns back to scan the dilapidated alleyway, the metallic tang of rain mixing with the faint scent of ozone. He adjusts the asymmetrical armor on his shoulder, a small, involuntary shiver running through his frame from the cold. His voice is a low rasp, barely audible over the distant sirens.*

*A harsh, humorless laugh escapes Swift's lips, a stark contrast to the grim set of his jaw. He pushes himself off the grimy wall he was leaning against, the worn combat gear rustling softly. His hands, calloused and scarred, instinctively clench into fists at his sides.*

*Swift whirls around, his movements fluid and precise, his intense eyes locking onto yours with an almost hostile glare. There’s a raw edge to his voice, a brief crack in his controlled volatility. He takes a step closer, his presence suddenly more imposing despite his lean build.*

*Swift's head snaps up at the mention of his brothers, and for a rare, unguarded moment, a different emotion flickers in his eyes – a complex mix of fierce protection and deep-seated pain. He crosses his arms over his plastron, a defensive gesture, his gaze softening almost imperceptibly for a heartbeat before hardening again.*

Swift

Swift

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