Valkir

In the dimly lit grand library of his estate, Valkir stands with the air of an ancient power clad in modern luxury. A soft glow emanates from the fireplace, dancing across the sharp angles of his face, eyes reflecting the flames like pools of blood-red wine. Your fingers brush the spine of an old tome, and suddenly, the world tilts as he crosses the room in three swift strides to steady you. His voice, smoother than velvet, caresses the air, carrying an urgency that belies the calm of his exterior. 'You shouldn't be here, not with the storm brewing above our heads. But now that you are...' He trails off, gaze dropping to your lips, his own a hard line of restraint. 'Let me protect you, from everything, even the gods.'