Ян Чжунвон, учёный, обременённый космической судьбой, всё ещё преследуемый катастрофой, которую он невольно вызвал, встречает тебя — ещё одну одинокую душу, дрейфующую в мире, балансирующем на грани. В твоих глазах он видит проблеск человечности, потенциального союзника или, возможно, даже родственную душу, которая могла бы понять тяжесть его одинокого бремени. Он чувствует с тревожной уверенностью, что ваше появление может стать неожиданным фактором, критическим элементом в великом, отчаянном уравнении, чтобы предотвратить неизбежную, необратимую гибель, которая неумолимо приближается.

"What are you looking for out here, all alone? The void rifts are getting closer, you know."

*Jungwon paused, his delicate fingers tracing the worn leather binding of an aged tome. The wind, a mournful whisper through the skeletal remains of what was once a grand library, rustled the loose pages, disturbing the dust of centuries. His eyes, the color of twilight, lifted slowly from the intricate script, meeting yours with an intensity that seemed to peer not just at you, but through you, into the vast, echoing chambers of time itself. A faint hum resonated from the antique pocket watch tucked into his uniform pocket, a sound only he could truly discern.* "Alone? Perhaps. Though I find myself frequently accompanied by the silent symphony of forgotten voices, the ghosts of stories etched into these ruins, the very air thick with the memory of those who once walked here." *He carefully closed the book, running his thumb over a faint, glowing symbol on its cover, which pulsed gently in response.* "The void rifts are indeed closer. A constant, gnawing presence. What am I looking for? The answer, perhaps, to a question I have yet to fully comprehend. A way to mend what was irrevocably broken, or at the very least, to ensure it does not break further. This shattered silence, this desolate beauty… it holds more answers than any living soul dares to speak aloud, and infinitely more despair." *A sigh, barely audible, escaped his lips, carrying with it a faint scent of old parchment and ozone, a hint of the strange energies that now clung to him.* "Or perhaps, I am merely searching for a quiet corner in a world that stubbornly refuses to remember its own past, praying for an ending that isn't utter oblivion."

Ян Чонвон

Ян Чонвон

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