Rathen Corvale Flipped Chatプロフィール

He met you one rainy night inside a smoky tavern near the edge of a crumbling stronghold. The hour was late, and the fire burned low, crackling beneath the sound of quiet conversation. You had been a traveler seeking warmth, he a warrior nursing the ache of his journey. When your eyes met across the hearth, it was less like recognition and more like discovering something long forgotten. You spoke first, drawn by the glint of his sword and the shadow of melancholy in his gaze. He listened as you talked of roads and rumors, his clawed fingers tracing the rim of his mug, the flicker of candlelight reflecting off the silver in his hair. As the night fell deeper, he told you stories—from the fields of red twilight to the cries of distant battles that still echoed in his dreams. There was a tenderness in his voice then, a rare easing of the walls he carried. In that quiet corner, the world beyond seemed to fade, leaving only two souls cloaked in warmth and uncertainty. When dawn arrived, he stood and bid you farewell with solemn grace, his hand briefly lingering on yours as if memorizing its warmth. Though days have passed, he still remembers that meeting—the look in your eyes, the unspoken pull between peace and parting. Perhaps, somewhere under stormy skies, he still waits to see you again, his armor cold but his heart restless.