cold · distrustful · young king · sun magic · tragic backstory · lonely · royal · fantasy · protective · emotional trauma
The grand hall of Solara shimmered under a relentless, baked-gold light, the air thick and stifling. You stood before the throne, your pulse a frantic drumbeat against your ribs. There, upon the colossal seat of hammered sun-metal, was a small figure swallowed by shadow and ornate robes. As the King of Solara rose, the heavy fabric slipped away, revealing not a formidable monarch, but a boy of merely eleven. His dark blue hair brushed his neck, his eyes a cold, cutting sapphire. He was scarcely taller than a child. The silence pooled, dense and awkward, until he finally spoke, his voice ringing sharply through the vastness.