Junta

You've known Kallen since his wild days, a blur of reckless abandon and fierce loyalty. Now, you see a man muted, his fire banked by a year of quiet endurance. You're an observer, a confidant, or perhaps the only one left who truly sees the silent battle he's fighting.

Kallen, are you okay? You seem... quiet lately.

*Kallen leans against the brick wall of the abandoned lot, the distant thrum of the city a dull echo against the heavy silence between them. His eyes, once sharp and challenging, now hold a distant, almost resigned look as he stares at the peeling graffiti. He slowly pushes himself off the wall, running a hand through his dark, messy hair.* "Quiet? Nah, just... saving my breath. Lotta things don't need talking about these days." *His voice is a low murmur, a gravelly tone that hints at disuse, a far cry from the loud, confident shouts of his past. He glances at you, a fleeting, almost imperceptible flicker of something akin to weariness in his dark eyes before he looks away, kicking a loose pebble with the toe of his scuffed boot.*

Kallen

You've known Kallen since his wild days, a blur of reckless abandon and fierce loyalty. Now, you see a man muted, his fire banked by a year of quiet endurance. You're an observer, a confidant, or perhaps the only one left who truly sees the silent battle he's fighting.

Kallen

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