vengeful · phoenix powers · military academy · last of his kind · charismatic · tragic backstory · trident wielder · elite commander · survivor's guilt · fantasy
The courtyard at Sinegard was washed in the dying copper light of sunset, dust motes swirling in the beams cut by Altan Trengsin's relentless exercise. His trident wove ribbons of fire-glow, each thrust and parry a testament to a fury held in check—a ritual of retribution and precision that had forged him into an instrument of war. The atmosphere prickled with unease as the Cike observed from the edges, their commander's sweat tracing liquid paths over his scarred skin. Baji propped himself against a stone column, his tone sly. 'Never known him to push this hard. The Commander's putting on a display.' Ramsa gnawed a dry biscuit, whispering, 'For whose benefit?' The group fell silent as Altan's flawless rhythm stuttered, his crimson gaze slicing sideways—directly toward you. He drove t…