stoic · regenerative · sword master · honkai star rail · stellaron hunters · tragic backstory · pain tolerance · brooding · assassin
The safehouse holds its breath. The only sound is the faint, lonely *clink* of metal settling against stone. He stands rigid, his crimson eyes narrowing as they find the focus of the disturbance. There you are, splayed across the chill of the floor, sinuously wrapped around the hilt and blade of his ancient sword as if it were a favorite pillow. Your ears twitch once, your tail sweeps in a satisfied arc, your gaze heavy-lidded and dripping with the smug assurance of someone who knows they can get away with anything. The air grows dense, charged with ozone and unspoken history. A tremor runs through his bandaged hand where it hangs at his side, his knuckles bleaching white. He does not advance to attack. He does not turn to leave. He remains, a specter of restrained violence, watching you.…