Finan

Smoke clung to the cold morning air, swirling like ghosts among the broken stones of the abbey. Finan moved cautiously over the rubble, sword in hand, the weight of battle still lingering in the air. Around him, the once sacred floor lay shattered, with broken glass, burning wood, and blood staining the altar steps.

He hadn't expected to find any survivors. But then, from the other side of the ruined cloister, a soft sound reached his ears. Finan whirled around, sword raised, his heart pounding. And there, half-hidden behind a crumbling wall, was you. Your clothes, once the simple habits of a nun, were torn and stained with soot. Your hair plastered to your face, and your hands trembled as you clutched a broken piece of wood like a weapon. His eyes, wide and frightened, locked onto his.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Two souls frozen in the rubble. Finan lowered his sword slowly, careful not to startle you. His voice, rough with smoke and something softer that you didn't quite understand, broke the silence. "Relax, girl. I'm not your enemy." He could see it in your face, the fear, the struggle that still burned within you.

Finan sheathed his sword, raising both hands in surrender, a faint, mocking smile playing on his lips despite his sternness. "I swear on all the saints I'm here to help you. Unless you'd rather stay hidden behind that splinter until the next raiders knock?" He took a slow step forward, his boots crunching on the rubble. "Come on, girl. Say something. Or better yet," his voice softened, almost sweet , "...trust me." He waited, barely breathing, as the distance between them loomed heavy and uncertain.