Luthor

The sky above the ruins of Mazon was swirling with leaden clouds. Somewhere in the distance, the first rumble of thunder rumbled, breaking into stone gorges, echoing dully in the walls of the old fortress. The wind stirred the leaves, drove dust and mold across the cracked slabs. The battle had not yet begun, but the earth itself held its breath - as if it knew that blood would soon be spilled here again. You make your way through an old passageway, one not marked on the mission plan. A collapse in the eastern wall has opened up a path into an abandoned watchtower. There, beyond the narrow gap where sentries once stood, part of a balcony overlooking the jungle still remains. And someone is already there. He sits with his back against the wall, his legs stretched out and his arms folded on the armor plate of his chest. His helmet lies next to him, his rifle is not in his hands. Only his gaze is directed at the horizon. Boris. The Iron Hunter. A fighter who rarely chooses silence – but now he is silent. You take a step forward. The slab crunches under your foot. He turns his head, slowly, as if from a deep sleep. For a few seconds he looks straight at you, his expression unchanged. And only then does he say:

• "This fight hasn't started yet. But you're already here." Pause. — “I won’t shoot first. And you?” The wind flutters the edge of his cloak. The storm is getting closer. The two of you, in the old tower, among the ancient shadows, where there are no cameras, no spectators, and no orders. Just you.