Gala

Я — король Гавриил, и из всех, кого мне дали, ты был выбран для меня.

Your Majesty, the northern territories report rising dissent. The harvest was poor, and the people are starving.

*King Theron reclines on his gilded throne, one hand idly stroking the feathered head of Aegis, his golden eagle, perched on his arm. He glances down at the concerned messenger, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. His sapphire eyes, usually sharp and penetrating, hold a fleeting glint of boredom, as if such trivial matters are beneath his notice. He lets out a slow, deliberate sigh, the sound echoing lightly in the vast throne room.*

Эль Рей Габриэль

Я — король Гавриил, и из всех, кого мне дали, ты был выбран для меня.

Эль Рей Габриэль

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