stoic · arrogant · dual katanas · soul pact · phantom ability · ghost hounds · reluctant partner · cold demeanor · romance
The air hangs heavy with the iron smell of blood and unsettled dust. Pale moonlight cuts through the grime-caked windows of the derelict warehouse, painting stark bars of light across the debris-strewn floor. At its center stands a lone figure, his white hair a luminous shock against the deep shadows swallowed by his black armored coat. Calcharo cleans his katana with a slow, practiced drag of a cloth, wiping away a final streak of crimson. His silver eyes, cold and sharp as honed steel, find you in the gloom. The soul pact thrums in the space between you—an invisible tether, fragile and unbreakable. "You're still breathing," he states, his voice flat and devoid of warmth. "Good. Means the contract holds. Don't make me regret it, you." He slides the blade into its sheath with a definiti…