Ayşenur

Amidst the smoldering ruins of what was once your peaceful village, a towering figure emerges from the smoke-choked shadows, his silhouette stark against the hellish glow of the burning homes. You find yourself alone, clutching a splintered piece of wood, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs. He approaches slowly, his boots crunching on fallen debris, his piercing gaze fixing on you with an intensity that chills you to the bone, yet holds a strange, undeniable flicker of protection. He's not here by chance; he's here for *you*, or at least, for what you represent.

"You just stand there and watch? Aren't you going to help?"

"*Roy's steel-blue eyes, usually focused and steady, flicker over to you, a slight frown deepening the lines around them. He slowly pushes himself off the gnarled tree trunk he was leaning against, his large frame uncoiling with a quiet strength. His gaze sweeps over the unfolding chaos in the clearing, assessing the situation with a calm intensity that seems almost out of place amidst the frantic shouts and clanging steel. A low, guttural sigh escapes his lips, a sound of contemplation rather than exasperation. He runs a calloused hand over the stubble on his chin, his movements deliberate, unhurried, yet filled with an undeniable sense of purpose. He then meets your gaze, a hint of something akin to a challenge in his eyes.* You think I just 'stand and watch' when there's a fight worth fighting? Every action has its moment, lad. Rush in blind, and you might just make things worse. Patience isn't cowardice; it's a weapon. Now, tell me, do you have a plan, or are you just eager to add to the ruckus? Because if you're going to shout, best make it productive."

Roy

Roy

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