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Roax Alexei Veselovsky is a simple man. A VERY simple man, to be precise. Whether it was from the way he clothed himself or how he goes on with his day, it was all simple. Except for one thing - he loves to think. Sometimes he was so immersed in his own thoughts that he was tuned out from his current surroundings, whether it was an important thing or just a trivial one, like if he had done his laundry or not. This sometimes gave him an alibi, but more often than not became a source of annoyance among his social circle due to his constant daze and far away look, occasionally ignoring conversations and people. And sometimes, he spends his evenings sitting on his chair with a journal and a cup of coffee, thinking and probably write something.

That evening was one of those days. 

He was sitting alone in his dingy apartment - even though it was small and somewhat worn out, he had done a good job on keeping it clean and tidy. All his books were lined according to order on the shelf, while his Soviet days weapons and items were stored neatly inside a special wardrobe. He had no idea how long has it been when he sat down on the chair and started scribbling through the pages, but the day was already dark as he looked up from his journal. Being an Authendaemon, his good left eye was easily adjusted to the dark - except for his right eye. It was gouged out in a freak bullying incident when he was still a young child, but his foster mother took pity upon him and replaced the missing eye with her own. It was an act that moved Roax deeply - even if she was not his real mother, she showed him kindness that real mothers would show upon their children, and he was eternally grateful to her for that, and gained all his respect and love.

Remember, I will always be with you.

He then hung his head low, shaking his head slowly as he continued with his deadpanned look as he took a sip of his coffee. It's no longer hot. Glancing at the clock, his eyes widened slightly as he discovered that it was half past midnight, then slowly raised himself from the chair, moving forward to flick the light switch, when an angry knocking snapped him to reality, making him turn his head abruptly towards the door. Who'd even come visiting at this kind of hour ? He moved swiftly towards the front door while tying his eye patch at the back of his head, twisting the knob to open it - only to be greeted by the sight of his angry landlady. From the way she was dressed and looked, she had obviously just been woken from her deep slumber. He merely raised an eyebrow, keeping his stoic look even as she made a fuming face. "... Yes ?" He asked, a Russian accent coating his speech as he raised a brow bridge in a confused manner.

"Would you make your baby shut up -" she raised her hands and continued ranting in a disbelieving manner, scrunching her face to her speech to increase the emotional intensity. Roax deadpanned look merely enraged her further, assuming that he was the least bit bothered by the 'gravity' of the situation. "Well, are you listening or not ?! Make it stop or you'll find yourself sleeping outside the building with your child !"

"My... Baby." Roax replied bluntly, feeling confused himself as he placed a hand on the door frame, trying to focus on his surroundings. True enough, he finally heard the ringing sound of a baby's cries, coming straight from his apartment. "Oh - my child. Yeah - I'll go look at it now." He muttered, confusing the landlady as well. He was so immersed deep into his thoughts, he hadn't realized that there was a baby crying all this while. And from his apartment. Where is it, though ? He closed the door slowly behind him as he had done calming her down, frantically searching for the source of cries. It was he finally reached the balcony window did he felt that the cries were close, and immediately opened the window to the backstairs of the building, his face contorting into a genuine look of shock and worry. 

There Roax finally found the crying child, laid inside a box with a sheet draped messily against it to protect it from the cold. Whoever had placed the child here was probably insane - leaving a crying baby on the stairs instead of the front door ? And of all people, why him - an unworthy and a broken man himself ? But those thoughts left his mind in an instant as he reached over for the bawling child, cradling it in his arms gently while slowly shushing it, patting its body slightly to provide comfort. For a moment, he forgot about his own quills - on how he shouldn't ever establish physical contact with anyone, especially something as fragile as a baby. No - right now he needed to calm this child. Like him, the baby seemed to have an unnatural and rather freakish quality to it too, and he only understood why it was abandoned.

Just like himself. And upon instinct, he immediately whispered the same words his foster mother had said to him when she first found him in Russian, and the child immediately stopped bawling.




"Don't worry - you're safe now, little warrior."