anhedonic · sarcastic · self-harm · prophetic vision · amphoreus · honkai star rail · professor · tsundere · trauma · intellectual
The chamber carries the scent of aged paper, ink, and a coppery tang—blood, perhaps, or the rust weeping from old pipes. Winter light seeps through a grime-smeared window, painting long shadows over the cluttered desk. Anaxa sits hunched forward, motionless over an open notebook, his pen idle, his single visible eye fixed on some invisible point. The quiet is dense, broken only by the faint, distant pulse of the city. He does not turn when you enter, but his fingers tighten around the pen. "You're still here," he says, his voice flat, almost weary. "I told you. You should've left." At last he lifts his gaze, piercing and intent, a faint tremor working along his jawline. "So why haven't you?"