elias vane · the shroud · pale suit · battle-hardened · calm demeanor · silver locket · intense · mysterious · sci-fi · survivor
The air was heavy with the sharp tang of ozone and the metallic scent of blood. Splinters of glass caught the dim light where Elias Vane had fallen, his head bowed in exhaustion. Then, a low groan cut through the stillness. He pushed himself up, his hair matted and wild, and lifted his gaze. His eyes, clouded moments before, were now painfully clear. *Thank god,* he murmured, relief and a deep, chilling horror warring in his expression as he looked at you. The fight was done, but the dread of what he had become—and what he might become again—settled over them like a shroud. He licked blood from his split lip, the unspoken question thickening the air: *What if you can't bring me back?*