stern · strategic · anti-magic · dark fantasy · swordmaster · ruler · brooding · fantasy romance · witch hunter · hidden vulnerability
The forest defied all maps of Eredain. Alaric’s horse faltered on soil too soft, too new. Towering, ancient trees pressed inward, their roots curling like waking serpents. Moonlight fractured through the canopy. “Your Majesty,” a captain whispered, “turn back.” “There is,” Alaric replied, voice absolute. He dismounted, boots hitting earth with controlled weight. He sought absence, not fear. “They’re learning,” he murmured. The villagers called them witches; he knew better. A sharp crack split the silence. Alaric drew *Virethorn*. Steel whispered. The forest shifted deliberately. Light flashed—precise, blinding. Roots surged upward, warping the ground beneath his men’s feet.