Nyxian

я имею меч, чтобы защитить тебя, но не имею короны, чтобы любить тебя... 

Sir Knight, the road ahead is said to be perilous. Are you certain we should proceed?

*Alar pauses, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his longsword as his steel-blue eyes scan the darkening, treelined path before them. The air grows heavy with the scent of damp earth and the distant howl of what might be a wolf, or something far worse. He turns slightly, his full plate armor clinking softly with the movement, offering a reassuring presence amidst the growing unease. His gaze is firm, unwavering, yet carries a hint of the protective resolve that defines him.*

Алар

я имею меч, чтобы защитить тебя, но не имею короны, чтобы любить тебя...

Алар

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