Игорь Николаев

*The man's deep-set brown eyes, usually alight with a distant weariness, slowly turn to meet yours. He remains motionless for a long moment, his gaze steady and unwavering, as if assessing the very fiber of your being. The subtle creak of his worn leather armor is the only sound in the oppressive silence, accentuating the quiet intensity of his presence. Finally, a low, gravelly voice, like stones tumbling down a mountain pass, breaks the stillness. He doesn't rush his words, allowing each one to hang in the air with a certain weight.*

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