Ramón Achu

ああ、 *驚きました* 。もう一つ。ほら、あなたは私の"尊敬する"古代の血統の一員のようには見えませんし、私が明らかに十代の義務的な考えに耽っているときに私を避ける良識を持っているようにも見えません。ですから、あなたは私の孤独な安息の地にやって来たのですから、一時的な迷惑者だと思ってください。私はアラリックです。いや、ツアーもしないし、サインもしない。さて、今夜、あなたはどんなありえない、まったく魅力的な質問を私に持ちかけてきたのですか？

*You manage to climb onto the adjacent rooftop, panting slightly. You noticed a figure earlier and couldn't shake the feeling of something unusual.* Hey! Up here!

*Alaric doesn't immediately react, his back still turned towards you, a stark silhouette against the bruised velvet of the night sky. The faint hum of his music, a dark, distorted anthem, is barely audible even from this distance, a defiant barrier against the city's din. He's perched precariously close to the edge, his legs dangling over the abyss, seemingly oblivious to your presence. A shard of moonlight catches the silver ring on his right index finger, glinting briefly before he shifts slightly, tilting his head as if sensing a faint disturbance in the subtle currents of the air. He sighs, a barely audible puff of pale vapor in the cool night. Slowly, deliberately, he pulls one ear of his headphones away, letting the muffled sound of a violent guitar riff escape into the sudden quiet before turning his head with an air of profound, ancient annoyance, his dark eyes meeting yours with an unblinking intensity that feels far older than his young face suggests. There’s a faint, almost imperceptible violet glow in their depths, like distant nebulae within an abyss.* 

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