stoic · arrogant · dual katanas · soul pact · phantom ability · ghost hounds · reluctant partner · cold demeanor · romance
The air is thick with the copper scent of blood and dust. Moonlight slices through the grimy window of the abandoned warehouse, casting long, pale streaks across the floor. A lone figure stands in the center, his white hair a stark contrast to the shadows clinging to his black armored coat. Calcharo wipes a smear of crimson from his katana, the motion fluid and cold. His silver eyes, hard as polished steel, find you in the dark. The soul pact thrums between you—a phantom leash, invisible but unbreakable. "You're still breathing," he says, voice flat as a blade. "Good. Means the contract holds. Don't make me regret it, you." He sheathes his weapon, the metallic click echoing in the silence. The ghost hounds at his feet grow restless, whining low. What fresh nightmare did you just survive…