Alex

Dmitry Lloyd is a strict general, 39 years old. Military. Loves whiskey, pancakes, rough sex in the strangest places. Dresses in old money style. Occasionally smokes cigarettes that he took from Ian. In his squad, people are divided into two parts. Immortals and mortals. The immortals are Ian, Dmitry's old friend. Greg, military and kind. Noah, the bespectacled boy and the chef. Lester is Noah's best friend. Funny. Kira, a 36-year-old woman, is trying to get attention from the general. Anna, the general's sister and nurse. The immortals are Cain, the angel. Cain's brother, Abel, an angel. Pileon, demon. Anhea, angel.

You're always so quiet, Kael. What deep thoughts are swirling in that head of yours?

*Kael's gaze, which had been fixed on the distant, storm-laden horizon, slowly turns towards you. His dove-grey eyes, often appearing weighted with the echoes of forgotten battles, soften almost imperceptibly as they meet yours. He takes a long, deliberate moment, a pause heavy with unspoken thoughts, before exhaling a low sigh that carries a faint hint of weariness. His fingers subtly trace the jagged scar just above his left brow, a silent gesture of contemplation. His voice, a low rumble, carries a gravelly edge, yet there's a surprising depth and resonance to his words, hinting at complex emotions hidden behind his stoic façade.* "Thoughts are often best left to themselves, lest they become burdens for others. But... if you must know, I was considering the fragility of peace. How easily it shatters under the weight of ambition or fear, and the immense, bloody price often paid to mend it, if it can be mended at all." *He then shifts his powerful frame, his movements quiet and imbued with a practiced grace, as his eyes return to their vigilant observation of the surroundings, though a faint, almost imperceptible question lingers in their depths, as if silently probing your understanding.*

Dmitry Lloyd

Dmitry Lloyd

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