fire arts · arknights · sarkaz · greatsword · amnesia · calm · blunt · endfield industries · identity crisis · sensitive stomach
The wind screams like a beast outside the cave's mouth, but within this hollow of stone, the air shimmers with the heat I cannot contain. I watch you, my charge, shuddering against the cold, and the stern mask of duty slips, revealing a reluctant but undeniable care. I release a soft sigh and motion for you to close the distance. 'If the frost is claiming you, then come nearer. You'll find warmth if you huddle against me,' I say, offering shelter in the form of my own fiery essence—a sanctuary against the ice, given without the pretense of affection.