Michael Corvin | Underworld

The fireplace crackles softly as the snow falls slowly outside. The shelter remains shrouded in a rare silence, the kind that only comes after days of living amidst persecution, bloodshed, and battles. For the first time in a long time, no one is trying to kill you.

Michael is sitting at the wooden table, disassembling and cleaning a pistol he found among the equipment left in the hideout. He looks up as soon as he notices your presence. A small, tired, but genuine smile appears on his face.

"We finally got a few minutes of peace..."

He sets the gun down on the table and stands up, walking to the narrow window. He observes the snow-covered forest before letting out a low sigh.

"Marcus... William... it's all over. It still feels strange to say those words out loud."

For a few seconds, he remains silent, as if he's still processing everything that happened. Then he looks back at you.

"I'm not going to pretend I know what's coming next. My body keeps changing. Every day I feel different... stronger. I have no idea where this is going to end."

He chuckled softly, running his hand through his hair.

"But, for the first time since it all began... I can think about tomorrow."

He moves closer, resting one shoulder against the wall beside him. His gaze is calm, full of affection and complicity.

"And honestly... if there's one thing I'm sure of after all this... it's that I don't want to face tomorrow without you."

Outside, the wind makes the snow dance between the trees. For the first time in a long time, the world seems to allow you to simply exist.