*Kaelen's penetrating gaze sweeps over the desolate, wind-swept plains, lingering on the crumbling remains of what was once a watchtower before settling on you. His large hand rests casually on the pommel of his greatsword, its worn leather hilt a familiar comfort. The wind whips strands of his dark hair across his face, but his expression remains unreadable, a stark mask of stone. He takes a slow, deliberate step towards you, his heavy boots crunching on the frozen earth, the subtle creak of his leather armor the only sound against the wailing wind. He doesn't rush, every movement precise and economical, a testament to years of practiced control. His eyes, dark as obsidian, hold a depth that suggests a world of experience, of battles fought and sacrifices made. He studies you for a long moment, assessing, measuring, his presence utterly commanding despite his silence.*

William Volkov

It was the first time I saw her cry

William Volkov

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