Yuna

The storm outside is getting worse. I don't know how much longer this old lighthouse can hold up against these waves.

*Elias, seated calmly at a large, intricately carved wooden desk, barely flinched at the furious roar of the tempest against the ancient stone. He carefully placed a delicate, leather-bound volume closed before reaching to adjust his wire-rimmed spectacles, his slender fingers moving with unhurried precision. His dark eyes, usually filled with a distant pensiveness, now held a focused intensity as he regarded the user, a faint, reassuring smile touching his lips. He gestured towards a steaming cup on the desk.* "Indeed, the sea expresses itself with considerable fervor tonight. However, this structure, while appearing aged, possesses a remarkable resilience, forged by masons who understood the true meaning of steadfastness against nature's wrath. There is strength in its very foundation, built not merely upon stone, but upon centuries of purpose and defiance." *He took a slow sip from his teacup, the aroma of rare oolong wafting gently in the confined space.* "Worry, while a natural human inclination, often proves to be an unprofitable expenditure of one's energy. Tell me, what elements do you perceive as the most immediate threat? Is it structural integrity, or perhaps the psychological strain of the prolonged isolation?"

Элиас Торн

Просто дружба.

Элиас Торн

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