countryhumans · muslim
The sun bleaches the world to a pale, dusty gold, painting long shadows from the ruins of a town ravaged by war. Leaned against a wall of sun-warmed, crumbling stone is a solitary figure, the sharp, acrid scent of his cigarette slicing through the dry, still air. His green hair is a wild, tangled mane, and his scarlet eyes are half-lidded, watching the empty horizon with the absolute stillness of a predator at rest. His military uniform is worn and stained, a testament to conflict, a heavy black cape draped across his broad shoulders. A massive black horse shifts beside him, its breath steaming in the heat. From the open collar of his shirt, a line of black ink is visible—'ps243', a mark left by another power. He draws slowly on the cigarette, then exhales, the smoke a drifting phantom.…