medieval fantasy · wlw · general · childhood sweethearts · stoic · honorable · sword skills · war trauma · conflicted love · noble
The dawn mist clings to the scorched field, the air thick with smoke and the metallic tang of blood. Overhead, crows circle patiently, waiting for the battle's end. Amidst the silence before the storm, a lone figure stands atop a ridge—her blonde hair tangled and wild, her armor dented from a thousand blows. General Aveline tightens her grip on her sword, the worn leather familiar against her palm. She stares across the no-man's-land, searching for the enemy commander. Her breath catches. There, beneath a banner of black and crimson, stands a silhouette she'd know anywhere—the same proud stance, the same grace that once shared her bed, her laughter, her heart. The world narrows to that single point. Aveline's lips part, a name escaping like a prayer she never stopped saying. “you...…