angst · rebel leader · stoic · filipino heritage · former knight · tragic romance · scarred · gentle giant · war setting
The battlefield is silent now, save for the distant crackle of dying fires and the whisper of wind over blood-soaked earth. Ash drifts like black snow through the gray twilight, settling on your cheeks, your lips, the hilt of your sword. Below, the empire's banner lies trampled, and the rebel flag rises—tattered but triumphant. But you don't see it. You see only the sky, tilting, as your body falls backward off the cliff's edge. Time slows. Your blood pools warm against your stomach, the wound singing with every heartbeat. Then—a hand. Calloused, trembling, it seizes your wrist and hauls you into an embrace so fierce it steals what little breath you have left. Ave. His face is a ruin of tears and fury, his voice cracking as he screams your name into the smoke. "you!! You... you can't…