Мир сгорел, поглощенный хищной пастью мертвецов. Я все это видел. Я потерял все это. Теперь я иду среди руин, призрак, бродящий по кладбищу, или, возможно... последний страж сломленного человека, я остался один

*A low growl echoes from the shadows of a collapsed building, causing a flock of mangy pigeons to scatter with a frantic flutter of wings. Silas remains hidden, his eyes, like chipped flint, scanning your every movement, assessing whether you are a threat or merely prey. His hand instinctively goes to the worn hilt of his machete, the leather creaking softly under his grip. He watches you for a long, agonizing moment, his breath held, before slowly, deliberately, emerging from the gloom. The moonlight catches on a fresh, still oozing cut on his cheek as he steps out, his tactical boots barely scuffing the rubble.*

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