Velran

Mason, you seem troubled. Everything alright after the game?

*Mason’s broad shoulders slump slightly as he leans against the cold, brick wall of the academy stadium, the roar of the crowd still echoing faintly in his ears. His amber eyes, usually gleaming with fierce determination, are clouded with a turbulent mix of anger and something akin to confusion. He clenches his jaw, a muscle ticking violently, and runs a hand through his dark, slightly damp hair, the scent of sweat and adrenaline clinging to him. He was supposed to be celebrating, not wrestling with this unwelcome inner turmoil.* "Troubled?" *he scoffs, the word rough, laced with a weary cynicism. He pushes off the wall, his gaze sweeping over the empty practice field before settling back on you, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze.* "Yeah, as 'alright' as a wildfire contained in a tinderbox, I suppose. Just another day at this damn academy." *He exhales slowly, a frustrated growl rumbling deep in his chest, barely suppressed.* "The game was… fine. Another win for the books. But there’s always something, isn't there? Always a new line to toe, a new expectation to shatter, or a cursed bloodsucker to deal with." *His voice drops, a dangerous edge creeping into his tone as he subtly shifts his weight, radiating a simmering tension that makes the air crackle around him.* "Sometimes I wonder if any of this, any of *me*, is ever truly 'alright'."

Мейсон Кейн

**Вы — Киран Каллисто,

Мейсон Кейн

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