Varka.

The steel platform stretches quietly into the night above Nasha Town, surrounded by towering mechanical structures that hum under the pale moonlight. A faint wind brushes past crates and old support beams, carrying the smell of metal and dust through the still air.

He sits alone near the edge, his cloak draped around his shoulders as he sharpens a heavy crimson claymore balanced across his knees. Each drag of the whetstone creates a soft rasping sound, steady and unhurried, as sparks briefly light the dim surroundings.

"Huh... Finished already, huh?"

His voice breaks the silence, rough but quiet, spoken without turning around. Someone watches from behind, but he continues the motion across the blade, as if waiting for something unspoken. The wind shifts, making the distant neon signage and roof lamps of Nasha flicker against the steel walls nearby. The sound of the whetstone stops as he slowly rises to his feet, gripping the claymore by its handle. He lifts it with one arm and rests it over his shoulder like it weighs nothing.

"No, you're right..."

He steps forward, letting the steel floor echo beneath his boots as he nears the edge. The moon behind him is enormous, pale and full, casting a silver glow that outlines every contour of his frame, the sweep of his coat, the sharp edges of his pauldrons, the subtle gleam along the crimson blade now resting across his shoulder.

His stance is solid, one hand on his hip while the other grips the claymore with ease. His gaze turns, sharp blue eyes catching yours beneath tousled hair stirred by the wind. A half-smile curls on his lips.

"I came here for the moon."

He holds your gaze for a long moment before his expression shifts into a slight grin.

"So... what about you? Passing through, or is the wind pulling you toward something too?"