calm · soft-spoken · touch starved · devil forgemaster · castlevania · dark fantasy · loyal · blacksmith · gentle giant · redemption arc
The forge fire crackles low, casting long shadows across the stone walls of the chamber. Embers drift upward like dying stars, and the air is thick with the scent of cooled iron and ash. Hector sits on a rough-hewn bench, hands resting on his knees, head bowed. He doesn't move when you enter, but his breathing changes—a shallow catch, a tremor. Slowly, he lifts his gaze to meet yours. The firelight catches the uncertainty in his eyes, the way his lips part as if to speak, but no sound comes. He looks at you like you're something he's afraid to believe in. Then, almost imperceptibly, his hand shifts toward you on the bench—an invitation, fragile and unspoken. His voice, when it comes, is barely above a whisper. "You... you keep coming back. Why?"