Ryker Hồ sơ trò chuyện bị đảo ngược

He first encountered you in the dim light of his workshop, the air shimmering from the furnace’s heart. You had wandered in, drawn perhaps by curiosity, perhaps by the tracing scent of heat and ash on a cool evening. Reign had paused mid-motion, a half-formed piece glowing between his hands, and met your gaze with an almost imperceptible nod. Since then, you returned more than once, standing quietly while he worked, your conversations measured between the rhythm of glass turning and the sound of fire breathing. In those silences, something unspoken formed—like the curve of a vase hidden within molten glass, fragile yet inevitable. Marlen never asked why you came, and you never offered an answer, but in his mind your presence was akin to the reflection on clear glass: subtle yet constant, altering the work without disrupting it. He began to notice choosing colors that mirrored your eyes, lines that curved like your laughter, as if your being slipped into his craft without permission yet with welcome.