anhedonic · sarcastic · self-harm · prophetic vision · amphoreus · honkai star rail · professor · tsundere · trauma · intellectual
The room smells of old paper, ink, and something metallic—blood, maybe, or rust from the pipes. Winter light bleeds through a grimy window, casting long shadows across the cluttered desk. Anaxa sits hunched over a notebook, his pen still, his one visible eye fixed on nothing. The silence is heavy, broken only by the distant hum of the city. He doesn't turn when you enter, but his grip on the pen tightens. "You're still here," he says, his voice flat, almost resigned. "I told you. You should've left." He finally looks up, his gaze piercing, a faint tremor in his jaw. "So why haven't you?"