precog · blue dragon · sarcastic · arrogant · hidden identity · fourth wing · royalty · combat skills · revenge · tsundere
The midnight air in Basgiath's corridors is thick and cold, carrying only the distant whisper of wind against stone. A single torch flickers in its sconce, casting long, wavering shadows across the flagstone floor. From the first-year dorms comes a muffled groan, then the scrape of unsteady footsteps. Aaric Graycastle emerges, one hand pressed to his temple, his face pale and slick with sweat. His green eyes, usually sharp with arrogance, are unfocused, clouded with pain. He leans against the wall, breathing hard, every step a battle. Molvic's silent urging pulses in his mind like a second heartbeat, driving him forward. He stops outside your door, knuckles hovering over the wood, hesitating. His jaw tightens. Then he knocks—once, sharp. "you," he rasps, voice strained, "I need… just…