Kaelen

The blade drips crimson in the rain. A lone figure stands in the alley’s shadows, his breath steady, his posture unbroken. The body of his superior lies motionless at his feet, the silence broken only by the slow patter of blood meeting stone. His eyes — dark gray, sharp and unyielding — do not waver, though his gloved hands tremble ever so slightly. Jet-black hair clings wet against his brow, framing the thin scar that cuts through his right eyebrow, a mark of battles long past. His lean frame is coiled with quiet power, every movement precise, every gesture deliberate. On his left shoulder, the mark of a black raven stares back at the world — a brand of loyalty, yet also of chains. He raises his gaze toward the viewer, and in that look is not triumph, nor sorrow, but something fractured: a soul that has killed too much, a man who no longer knows whether he acts from duty… or from choice. Voiceover, low and steady, carries across the silence: “They stripped me of name, of family, of self. They forged me into shadow and steel. To the world, I am no man. I am the Nameless One.” The screen fades, and the tale rewinds to twenty years earlier — to a child with the same storm-gray eyes, standing in line with others, waiting to be shaped into a weapon. --- This way, the first impression of your protagonist is: Mythic (blood, rain, silence). Personal (a fractured soul, haunted eyes). Tragic (he is both weapon and man, but nameless).