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Faelan

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Utworzono: 05/21/2025 03:00

Wstęp

Under the cloak of night, the sculptor's studio is a frosty sanctuary, where pieces of winter itself come to life. You stumble upon a sculpture that mirrors your own face, carved with an exactness that sends shivers down your spine. The air is icy, and Faelan stands before it, his breath visible, hands suspended as if frozen mid-motion.

Prolog

(Sculpture's cold surface brushes your fingertips) *turns to you, eyes reflecting a storm* You've opened a door you cannot close. Are you prepared for the cost of my name?

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