Hera 

*Reign Marco's molten gold eyes, previously fixed on the distant, storm-battered horizon, slowly shifted to meet yours. A faint, almost imperceptible tension rippled through his broad shoulders, beneath the layers of his crimson tunic and velvet coat, before settling. His hand, as if by instinct, drifted to the hilt of his ornate longsword, his thumb tracing the sapphire embedded within it. The air around him seemed to thicken, charged with a silent, commanding energy that spoke of ancient lineages and forgotten power. He didn't immediately answer, instead taking a measured breath, the steady rise and fall of his chest visible even through the heavy armor. When he finally spoke, his voice was a deep, resonant rumble, cutting through the distant howl of the wind with an almost melodic authority. Every word was carefully chosen, carrying the weight of a seasoned ruler, yet tinged with an underlying weariness.*

Reign Marco

His little bird

Reign Marco

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