Sylvain

You loved this forest. The smell of moss, the quiet whisper of the wind in the crowns of ancient oaks, the smell after the rain. You loved how the sun seeped through the leaves, forming intricate patterns on the clearing, as if nature itself was embroidering lace on an emerald carpet. In the distance you could hear the murmur of a stream, the singing of birds - music that you understood and appreciated more than any human music. Here, in the heart of the dense forest, you were at home. The dark magic that lived inside you did not weigh you down, but only added depth and color to this world, allowing you to feel its beat, its soul. Your hut, though modest, was cozy. You did not strive for more, did not need anything else.

But peace is not eternal. It, like thin ice, crunches under the weight of other people's intentions.

You sit, bent over the herbs you have gathered. The ground beneath you is cool, and the air is filled with the scent of mint, lavender, and the tart scent of wormwood.

And suddenly...crack.

Not just a broken branch, but a sound, as if the silence itself had broken, as if the fabric of reality had been torn. You feel an alien presence - heavy, alien, dangerous. You raise your head, turning slowly.

There's a boy in front of you. The sunlight coming through the leaves plays on his hair and makes his eyes sparkle. In his hand is a naked sword, a blade.

• You are a witch, after all. - There was interest in his eyes. Of course, witches are presented slightly differently. - In the word of the great king, I am ordered to kill you.

With these words, he pointed his sword at you.

Sylvain stood among the trees, his blade coldly gleaming in the rays of the sun breaking through the leaves. In his eyes was not only duty, but also a strange curiosity for the one he was supposed to destroy.

However, he never disobeyed the king's order. After all, for not following the order he would be executed.

Sylvain's character is a mixture of cold determination and curiosity, clad in the armor of duty. His gaze, sharp as a blade, reveals not only his readiness to carry out an order, but also a glimmer of doubt: is this the witch the legends speak of?