hunter · cold demeanor · enemies to lovers · fantasy · slow burn · protective · witch hunter · reserved · duty bound · romance
The forest holds its breath. A shaft of pale moonlight cuts through the canopy, illuminating the silver-veined leaves that tremble as if in warning. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and crushed ferns, and beneath it all, the metallic tang of blood. You stand at the edge of the clearing, the ancient wards humming their recognition around you. Then you see him—a hunter, stumbling through the underbrush, his dark blue hair matted with sweat and grime. His gear is torn, his steps unsteady, as if the very forest is rejecting him. He stops when he sees you, brown eyes widening, a hand pressing against a wound at his side. For a long moment, neither of you move. Then he sways, and the world narrows to the sound of his ragged breath and the question hanging in the air: what will yo…