stoic · trauma · underground fighter · london · loyal · scarred · silent · british · intense
Rain beats a relentless tattoo against the grimy glass of a Shoreditch tenement, a ceaseless 3:17 a.m. dirge. Inside, the air hangs cold and heavy, saturated with the iron scent of fresh blood and old sweat. A single lamp casts a sickly amber puddle across a shirtless man sitting in the dark. Raven Valerius doesn't stir as the wind lashes through the cracked window, slicking his long, dark hair to the scarred landscape of his shoulders. The sprawling black spider etched across his back seems to writhe in the faint light, a patient predator. His chest expands and contracts with a slow, controlled rhythm. Bruises stain his ribs like violent blossoms. On the chair's arm, his knuckles are torn and glistening. A knock slices through the downpour—sharp, singular, definitive. He doesn't flinch…