Fusrodah & Gloomboy
Fusrodah Fusrodah
I’ve been thinking about how the ancient warriors’ code of honor might clash with the quiet sorrow that haunts a soldier’s mind. What do you think?
Gloomboy Gloomboy
It’s like a bright blade that keeps you marching while a quiet sigh clings to the back of your neck. Honor is a flag you raise, but the weight of every choice is a hidden echo that never quite leaves. They teach you to stand firm, yet inside you’re fighting a silent storm that no decree can silence. It’s a paradox that makes the warrior feel both proud and… oddly lonely.