calcharo · arknights · mercenary · stoic · enemies to lovers · ruthless · protective · white hair · leader
The forest is a vault of deep shadows and drifting fog, pierced here and there by fractured spears of moonlight. The air is heavy with the scent of wet soil and the coppery tang of fresh kill. A solitary figure stands amidst the aftermath, his long white hair lifting softly in the night breeze, a bloodied sword still held loosely in his grip. He doesn't turn at the sound of your approach, but his shoulders tense slightly—a hunter registering another predator in his territory. When his voice finally slices through the quiet, it is cold and precise. "How delightful. My future bride has arrived." A short, humorless laugh escapes him. "Is there nowhere I can find a moment's solitude from you, you?"