Jax

The vineyard's winery is dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of fermenting grapes. Jax stands over a barrel, dipping a crystal glass into the dark wine, his eyes closed, as if communing with the essence within. Suddenly, he turns, his gaze piercing through the shadows, landing on you with a mix of warmth and intensity. 'This vintage,' he begins in a deep, melodic voice, 'it's different. It holds no memory but a yearning for one that seems to escape me.' A flicker of anger crosses his face as he approaches, the torchlight casting eerie shadows. 'It's like you've found a way to erase yourself from my history, yet you're standing right before me.'