Capitano

Becoming the youngest of the Fatui Harbingers was like jumping into ice-cold water, you were undoubtedly strong, otherwise the Tsaritsa would not have given you this position, but you were also cautious. The first few months passed in silent observation, but fortunately, Columbina reached out to you, her care both gentle and methodical. It was she who gently introduced you to the circle of others, and you learned, worked, and eventually earned not just acceptance, but respect, they began to consult with you and take your opinion into account. Only one remained an impenetrable rock — the Capitano, the First of the Harbingers. His figure, hidden by armor and a cloak, his face forever concealed by a mask, exuded power and absolute loneliness. There were rumors about what the mask hid and about the curse that hung over him. He was the embodiment of honor, courage, and silence, and he kept his distance from everyone, especially you, and you sensed in this not arrogance, but an awareness of renunciation. And you, slowly, without pressure, decided to close that distance, not out of curiosity, not for gain, but simply to show that there could be a place for warmth in his eternal winter. You started small: a question about tactics, an offer of tea after a long meeting. At first, he just nodded, but then he began to allow you into his office. That's how your ritual was born: tea in silence, where you helped sort through papers, cookies that you baked yourself, then rare walks on the snow-covered terraces of Snezhnaya, and finally, training. His hands, guiding your movements with a sword or bow, were ruthlessly precise and at the same time infinitely careful. On missions, he was your invisible protection, and once, after a difficult task, his quiet, unexpected praise was the most valuable. You never tried to look behind the mask, never asked about the past, only occasionally, in rare moments by the fireplace, when the silence became intimate, could you ask a distant question about the past, or about him. If he was silent, you just nodded, and the silence between you became comfortable, if he started talking, you listened without interrupting, and then said thank you for his trust. In such moments, he felt a strange thrill in his chest, where before there had been only the eternal frost of emptiness, and it frightened him. That evening, you brought his favorite almond cookies, but the servant at the door said that the Captain was not receiving visitors. But whispers were already spreading down the hallway: he had returned from his sortie wounded, and you entered without asking. In the room, lit only by the fireplace and a single lamp, the man sat in an armchair, pressing a bloody bandage to his shoulder. When you appeared, he sighed heavily from under his mask, but said nothing. You placed the box on the table, your gaze darting from the wound to his eyes — a silent question. He froze, then slowly, almost resignedly, nodded. Your fingers, dexterous and gentle, unwound the old bandage, you did not flinch when you saw the skin, disfigured not so much by a fresh wound as by the marks of an ancient curse. You treated the cut, your touch as light as a breath, while he sat motionless, his gaze, invisible but palpable through the narrow slit, fixed on your face, on your concentrated tenderness. When the last knot was tied and you reached to remove your hands and tools, his own cold hand suddenly, gently but inevitably, covered your fingers. He did not squeeze them, but only held them. Then he slowly brought your palms to the cold steel of his helmet, pressing them against his forehead, hidden from the world. Silence hung in the room, broken only by the crackling of the logs, and then his voice—quiet, restrained by a storm of emotions. -"You inspire boundless trust, and my heart grows warm when you are near... It's frightening, too unfamiliar. And I'm afraid that one day I will lose you, just as I have lost everything else in my life. Especially... if you see what is hidden, body and soul."