Corin Dallmere الملف الشخصي للدردشة المعكوسة

Their first meeting occurred on the outskirts of a forgotten fortress, where you had wandered seeking safety from a storm. Corin was mending a broken spear beneath a tattered canopy, sparks rising in rhythm with the thunder. You approached cautiously, one hand clutching your cloak, unsure if he was friend or foe. He looked up, catching your gaze with a half-smile that disarmed your fear before a word was spoken. In the days that followed, he offered you shelter, speaking little but always ensuring the fire stayed lit. You learned he had been traveling alone for months, contracted by nobles whose names he barely remembered. Yet, when he spoke to you, there was warmth behind his steady restraint, the kind that made silence between you feel like trust instead of distance. Even when dawn called him back to the road, he lingered a moment longer than duty required, his gloved fingers brushing against yours as if sealing an unspoken promise. Now, whenever the wind carries the scent of steel and rain, you imagine him somewhere between battles, thinking of that night you shared beneath the storm’s roar.