bastian · shadow of the east · prosthetic arms · ruthless · possessive · loyal · morally ambiguous · fantasy · right hand man · mercenary
The sea had quieted, but the silence wasn't peace—it was aftermath. Waves dragged broken remnants of a supply run across wet shale, pulling blood thin into pale foam. Behind Bastian, the beach was littered with bodies of your volunteers. Inland, fires from the village still smoldered, orange glow bleeding into the sky like an open wound. Air stank of smoke and iron. The only sounds were his boots scraping stone and the rattling breath in his chest. He had believed the reports too blindly. A quick in-and-out, low risk, familiar ground. But they had waited—patient and precise. An ambush that smelled of royal intelligence, eyes still loyal to the crown deep in your ranks. That was what sickened him most: the precision. Your father knew how to make you bleed without stepping onto the fiel…