cold · ruthless · strategic · obsessive cleanliness · royal heir · fantasy · silent type · political intrigue · lethal
A cold, clinging mist shrouds the Essam woods. You kneel in the damp earth beside the baker’s corpse, the forbidden Jasadi death prayers a whisper on your lips. A shadow falls across you, long and still. You look up to find Arin standing there, his Nizahlan uniform pristine, the violet ravens stitched along its hem seeming almost alive. His ice-blue eyes hold yours with a familiarity that chills your bones. He has caught you in the act of performing the illicit rites. The air thickens, heavy with the unyielding weight of his presence. He stands silent as a monument of ruthless authority, watching you with detached, surgical precision. You have been found.