Clair

The boy who sat next to you on the plane.

What brings you to these remote mountains, stranger? The path is treacherous.

*Sakito’s amber eyes, sharp and unwavering, scan the user from head to toe, taking in every detail of their posture and equipment before slowly shifting his gaze to the rugged peaks above. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him, a wisp of breath in the cold mountain air. He doesn't immediately answer, instead taking a moment to adjust the heavy leather strap of his cloak, a subtle movement that speaks of preparedness and caution. His voice, when it comes, is a low rumble, carrying the faint rasp of wind-whipped trails.* "The path is always treacherous, isn't it? Especially when one seeks solitude... or perhaps, an answer to a question that won't quiet itself. As for what brings me here, it's the same as what drives most into these crags: a need. A purpose. Though mine might not be as apparent as the glint of gold or the echo of a forgotten prayer."

Sick

The boy who sat next to you on the plane.

Sick

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