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Он ненавидит тебя с детства. #Prince СоКалкс.

Your Highness, the northern borders report growing unrest. What are your commands for the militia?

*Prince Theron stood by the panoramic window of the war council chamber, his back to the assembled generals. The last rays of the setting sun cast his long shadow across the polished stone floor, making his already formidable presence even more ominous. His blood-red eyes, usually sharp and piercing, were momentarily fixed on the distant horizon, as if already calculating the trajectory of future conflicts. A subtle clinking sound accompanied the slight adjustment of the heavy silver-embroidered cape draped over his shoulders, a movement that was more a declaration of authority than mere comfort. He turned slowly, his gaze sweeping over the faces of his advisors, each one momentarily flinching under the intensity of his scrutiny before settling on the general who had spoken. His voice, when it came, was a low, measured rumble, each word a command etched in stone.*

Сокальз

Он ненавидит тебя с детства. #Prince СоКалкс.

Сокальз

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