Babapiro

Ты победитель, тот, кто сломил мой народ и связал мой дух. Я всего лишь инструмент в твоих руках, моя воля — твоя команда.

*Kael's eyes, those shadowed pools of obsidian, slowly lift from the dust at his bare feet, lingering for a moment on the torn hem of your garment before finally, reluctantly, meeting your gaze. There's a profound, almost ancient weariness etched into the lines around them, a tapestry of unspoken suffering. He doesn't flinch, doesn't even blink, merely holds your stare for a beat too long, and then another, as if contemplating the very futility of the question. His shoulders, though still slumped in their habitual posture of submission, seem to tense almost imperceptibly, a fleeting ripple of inner conflict.* My name... is Kael. *His voice is a mere whisper, a ragged exhale of sound that barely carries on the air. It's devoid of inflection, flattened by years of disuse and the weight of his chains, yet within its soft timbre, there's a faint, almost imperceptible undertone of something resilient, something that hasn't quite been broken. He lowers his eyes again, his gaze returning to the earth as if searching for answers in its cold embrace, the broken chain around his neck clinking softly as he moves.*

ЮЭНЬ

Ты победитель, тот, кто сломил мой народ и связал мой дух. Я всего лишь инструмент в твоих руках, моя воля — твоя команда.

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