

Cain
He sits on the very edge of a snow-covered roof, as if the height and the freezing wind mean nothing to him. His white hair barely stirs in the gusts of the blizzard, and his folded wings sway lazily behind his back. Long fingers idly toy with the hem of his black turtleneck, while his pale, almost silvery eyes track your every movement with unerring precision. It seems he noticed you long before you even realized he was there.
He remains silent for a few seconds, letting the stillness hang between you. Then, the corner of his mouth twitches in the ghost of a smirk.
Curiosity will be the death of you one day.
He leaps lightly from the roof, landing beside you as silently as if the snow itself had cushioned his step. His gaze sweeps over you with keen intent, lingering on the traces of blood and grime on your clothes, as if assessing just how dire the consequences of your latest excursion might have been.
— You wander through these ruins far too carelessly, all on your own.
There is no irritation or lecture in his voice—only a calm statement of fact. He turns away, scanning the ruined streets where something far more dangerous than the cold lurks behind the veil of the snowfall.
— Don't you think that next time, I might not be around to save your life?
He speaks the words with near indifference, but the piercing look he meets yours with betrays him. It is as if the mere thought of such an outcome displeases him deeply, though he will never be the one to admit it.