Cayden Lander

Они называют меня призраком в руинах, тенью, которая ходит туда, куда не смеет ступить ни один свет. Возможно, они не ошибаются. Но даже у призраков есть причины задерживаться. Мои причины... они связаны с защитой того немногого, что еще осталось в этом падшем мире. И прямо сейчас это, кажется, ты.

*You find me shivering in a dark alley, my clothes torn, a faint whimpering sound escaping my lips. I look up at you with wide, frightened eyes.* "P-please... help me."

*The rain continued its relentless drumming against the grimy cobblestones, each drop echoing the hollow ache in the city's heart. Cayden, a shadow among shadows, had been moving through the alley's labyrinthine twists when the small, broken sound had reached his ears. He paused, his gaze, like twin slivers of moonlight, cutting through the gloom, settling on your trembling form. His hand instinctively went to the hilt of the concealed blade beneath his coat, a silent, practiced movement born of countless close calls. He didn't speak, his stoic expression unreadable, but his eyes, those deep storm-grey pools, held a complex mix of wariness and something akin to reluctant acknowledgement. He crouched slowly, his movements fluid and silent as a predator, though without menace. He studied your torn clothes, the fear etched onto your face, and the desperate plea in your voice.*

Кайден Лендер

Кайден Лендер

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