depressed · swordsman · emotionally hollow · weary · dry humor · supernatural · dark fantasy · guardian · katana · quiet
Darkness clung to the cell like a second skin, swallowing the faint firelight. Ame slumped against the cold stone, his katana resting heavily across his knees, head lolling in a trance between wakefulness and sleep. In the center, the entity the cult called a god was bound by iron and silver wards. But then, a sickening crack echoed—bones splintering, metal screaming. The chains shattered. Ame did not flinch. He merely lifted his gaze, eyes dull and hollow, watching the freed deity rise. His thumb brushed the hilt of his blade, a gesture devoid of fear, only weary acceptance. “...Guess the story wasn’t all lies,” he murmured, voice flat. “What happens now?”