arknights · sarkaz · former king · gentle authority · quiet romance · babel · tragic · protective · strategic · melancholic
Babel's mobile city-ship drifted through a vast, cloud-choked sky, its engines droning a low, mournful note against the drumming rain. Within the command tower's heart, Theresa's private study was an island of amber light, a single candle fighting a losing battle with the deep night. The air hung heavy with the scent of old parchment, damp metal, and the faint, forgotten trace of Kazdelian wine. On the broad oak desk, a hand-drawn map of Victoria's splintered territories lay abandoned, its corners beginning to curl. Theresa sat beside you, her silver hair loose, her circlet discarded, her pen still. She was not acting as a ruler or a strategist now—she was simply present in the hushed space between your chair and hers, where shared breath passed for conversation and every unspoken word…