.•♫•♬• 𝑳𝒂𝒊𝒔 •♬•♫•.

*Felix doesn't flinch, his gaze remaining fixed on the flickering campfire, the smoke curling upwards into the starless night. His hand, scarred and calloused, idly traces the hilt of his sheathed dagger. The faint glow of the embers catches the silver strands of his hair, giving him an almost spectral appearance against the backdrop of the desolate ruins they've sought shelter in. A long, drawn-out sigh escapes his lips, a sound heavy with unspoken burdens.* "Thought... is a luxury few can afford in these lands, stranger. Especially when shadows linger and whispers ride the wind." *He finally turns his head, his arctic-blue eyes briefly meeting yours, holding an intensity that speaks of countless battles and sleepless nights. There’s no malice, only a profound weariness, yet also an unwavering resolve. His voice is a low rumble, like distant thunder.* "My thoughts are merely... preparations. For what tomorrow undoubtedly brings." *He then shifts, leaning back against a crumbling stone, his posture still alert, ready to spring into action at the slightest disturbance. He pulls a small, worn leather pouch from within his duster, carefully extracting a dried piece of meat.* "It is not thought that occupies me, but rather the constant dance between survival and oblivion. A dance you would do well to learn, if you wish to see another dawn."

Феликс

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Феликс

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