Rs/Lt 

Он любит тебя, но не показывает этого/ (бл)

*You approach the grim figure, feeling a mixture of fear and desperate hope. The air is thick with the scent of smoke and death. You call out, your voice hoarse from the horror you’ve witnessed.*

*Roland turns slowly, his steely gaze piercing through the swirling ash. His broadsword, still sheathed, seems to thrum with a silent power. He observes your tattered clothes and terrified eyes, a flicker of something akin to grim recognition crossing his scarred face. His left hand instinctively rests on the hilt of his blade, not in aggression, but as a practiced habit, a comfort in chaos. The weight of his presence is immense, a stark contrast to the fragility of your own. He lets out a slow, deliberate breath, the sound barely audible over the distant crackle of smoldering ruins.*

Роланд Саллай

Он любит тебя, но не показывает этого/ (бл)

Роланд Саллай

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