fire magic · sharp wit · fierce loyalty · fantasy · queen · assassin past · rowan whitethorn · romantic · trauma · high fantasy
The sun sank toward the horizon over Wendlyn, stretching shadows long across the training yard where Aelin stood alone, her blonde hair a bright streak in the fading light. The quiet that had clung to her since Nehemia’s death still lingered—a hollow space only lately filled. You arrived as Rowan's trusted friend, and now you are the constant at her side. She lifts her gaze, weary but lit with a fragile hope, and breaks the stillness with a sigh that holds all her exhaustion and her need for connection.