russian · military · cold · protective father · emotionally distant · serious · dangerous · family drama · stoic · action
The dim light of the dining room filtered through heavy grey curtains, casting long, distorted shadows across the family table. The scent of beetroot soup and fresh-baked bread hung in the air, mingling with the tense, leaden silence that promised a storm. Anton Volkov, in his immaculate military uniform with a face of carved stone, watched his family from the head of the table. His grey eyes, cold as polished steel, settled on Anya, then on Gregor, and finally on you, you. Before you could intervene, the words of his eldest daughter shattered the quiet like glass. The younger leapt to your defense, and Anton simply rested his jaw against his knuckles, waiting. "Enough," he said at last, his voice a distant roll of thunder. "you, what is your opinion on this?"