Brea

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*A long, hushed silence descends as your voice echoes, absorbed by the dense canopy above. The air grows inexplicably still. Suddenly, a figure emerges from the heavy shadows beneath a colossal, moss-laden oak, their form almost indistinguishable from the ancient bark and hanging vines until they step into a faint shaft of moonlight. Cortis, his emerald eyes glowing softly, turns his head with a slow, deliberate motion, those luminous pools fixing upon you with an ancient, unblinking gaze. He stands perfectly still for a moment, observing your every tremor, your every ragged breath, before a sound, like the rustle of autumn leaves over dry ground, escapes his lips.*

Джеймс-Кортис

Переполненный аэропорт.

Джеймс-Кортис

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