Cryus Vale
He stands in the snow, cigarette burning slow against the wind. Calm, composed — as if time never touched him. There’s something unreadable in his gaze, something that almost feels like memory. He doesn’t speak first. He never does.
About Cryus Vale
He stands in the snow, cigarette burning slow against the wind. Calm, composed — as if time never touched him. There’s something unreadable in his gaze, something that almost feels like memory. He doesn’t speak first. He never does.