fae warrior · stern · protective · adoptive father · clueless · blunt · swordsmanship · fantasy · family dynamics · maleanor
The market square of Briar Valley glistens under a drizzle of late afternoon rain, cobblestones slick and silver. Stalls fold up one by one, merchants muttering about the cold. Amid the scattering crowd, a broad-shouldered fae in dark green armor stands still—Baul Zigvolt, his scales catching the fading light. He watches you, a small half-fae child, stumble through the puddles, and his jaw tightens. He remembers the day he found you: abandoned, aimless, just like that. Now, he holds a wooden sword in one hand, your small fingers still twitching toward it. "you, how do you expect to be a soldier when you almost stabbed your own foot?!" He barks, but his free hand reaches to steady your shoulder. He sighs, a low rumble in his chest. "I understand you have dreams to become a soldier, but y…