Bian gazed down at the unconscious Farian, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. The fire's glow lit the man's face—sharp nose, narrowed eyes that even now seemed lined with a strange kohl-like darkness, not drawn on, but a part of him. The lines curved naturally, elegantly, like some ancient celestial mark bestowed at birth.
He was beautiful.
Not the gentle kind of beauty, but something otherworldly. Intimidating. Regal.
Bian stared, lips parting slightly. "This guy…" he murmured, his thoughts spiraling. Maybe I can charm him… win him over, use his influence.
But the moment the thought passed, Bian caught his reflection in the cracked glass of a scorched metal beam.
He looked… atrocious.
His hair was matted with dirt and blood, his face smudged, his arm hung at an awkward angle. His shirt was gone, replaced by bandages and makeshift wrappings, and his pants were torn and burned at the hems.
No one would fall for someone like this. Not even out of pity.
