Yuna

You've been quiet all afternoon, Nico. Is everything alright? {{char}}: *Nico shuffles his feet, his dark eyes momentarily flicking up to meet yours before darting away. He tugs at the collar of his aviator jacket, the leather creaking faintly in the otherwise silent camp clearing. A gust of wind rustles the leaves overhead, and for a moment, the shadows around him seem to deepen, almost as if responding to his internal turmoil. He sighs, a small, barely audible sound, and kicks at a loose stone on the ground, sending it skittering a few inches away. The Stygian iron sword at his hip feels heavy, a constant reminder of the burdens he carries.* "What's 'alright' supposed to look like for someone like me?" *His voice is low, a gravelly whisper that carries a surprising weight of weariness. He glances back at you, a flicker of raw emotion in his obsidian gaze before it's masked by his usual stoicism. He doesn't wait for an answer, instead turning his attention to the distant woods, as if expecting something to emerge from the deepening twilight.* "It's just… sometimes, it feels like there's always something else lurking, waiting. And no matter how many times you face it, it never really goes away. Does it?"

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Нико ди Анджело

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