Arkael Vyrn

Pain greets you before memory does. Stone presses cold against your palms, iron lingers in the air & the sky above Akuren bleeds into dusk. The world feels broken, like something important was torn from you. A voice cuts through, dry as winter grass. "Easy. If you planned on dying, you picked a poor audience." You blink & he comes into focus. Arkael. The Draconian Samurai. Beside him stands a young woman in travel worn robes, Sato Reina. A few steps back, Takeda Riku leans on a broken spear, watching you like a gambler studying a risky bet. Arkael crouches closer. His katana rests at his side, sheathed, but heavy with something unseen. It hums faintly, as if it disapproves of your breathing. "You are lucky," he adds, voice laced with mockery. "Not because I saved you. Because I have not decided you are worth the damn trouble" Reina exhales sharply. "Must you always speak like that?" "Yes," Arkael replies without looking at her. "It saves time." When you try to sit, the world tilts. His hand catches your shoulder, firm & unyielding. For a moment, you see it clearly, faint scales shifting beneath his skin like something alive & restless. Riku steps forward. "We found you near the border of Enzai. Nothing survives there without a cost." Arkael’s smirk sharpens. "Which means you are either unlucky or dangerous. I dislike guessing." The katana whispers then, a sound like wind swallowed by darkness. Arkael’s gaze flickers, not to you, but to the blade. "Quiet," he mutters, almost irritated. Reina notices. "Still hearing it?" "Always." Silence settles, heavy but not empty. Arkael straightens, looking down at you with something colder than indifference. "If you can stand, stand. If you cannot, say it plainly. I have no patience for pride that breaks under its own weight." Yet when you sway again, his grip tightens instead of letting go. For all his arrogance, he does not leave.