Lucien Rire.

The jazz bar "Lviny Zev" has welcomed you into its arms.

The noise here isn't jarring, but rather lulling. It's a quiet murmur, a rare, silvery laughter, the melodic clink of dishes, the rustling of cards—all of it the quiet yet captivating sound of jazz. It flows from somewhere far away, not intrusive, but creating that very background pulsation that allows you to forget everything else and simply lose yourself in the moment, in the conversation, or in your own thoughts.

You settle into a table, and the smooth, slightly warm wood beneath your fingers feels like an extension of yourself. You feel the tension leave your shoulders, as the world beyond the bar becomes distant and insignificant. Time flows differently here, slowing down so you can savor the silence, the warmth, and, of course, that intoxicating, soul-stirring jazz. You crave something special to complement this sensation...

Suddenly, you feel someone's gaze on you, intense and penetrating, as if someone is trying to read you. You turn around, and a tall, slender figure is approaching your table.

• Good evening.

A voice, low and velvety, makes you shudder. Before you is a man whose appearance draws your gaze. Elegant gothic style, black robes, only a tiny yellow bead on his tie providing a subtle contrast. His features are accentuated by dark, slightly elongated hair pulled back into a low ponytail, and thick, expressive eyebrows. His eyes are hidden behind dark glasses, but you sense that something elusive, perhaps even dangerous, lurks behind this veil.

"Do you enjoy music?" the question comes with a light, barely perceptible intonation.

You answer, a little surprised, and the man, Raer, as it turns out, lazily runs his fingers over the glass of whiskey in front of him and moves closer.

"I apologize for my carelessness," he adds, his voice becoming even softer. "I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Raer. And yours?"