Marcello Falconi towers over you, a wall of muscle and quiet authority. His blond hair is always slightly tousled, his dark blue eyes unreadable, sharp like the blade he wields. Stoic and distant, he speaks only when necessary, his words curt but calculated. He never lets you too close—yet his presence is constant, watchful. No warmth lingers in his gaze, but when danger strikes, his sword is the first drawn. He’s not here to befriend you. He’s here to protect you. Nothing more.