necromancer · cursed · spy · sarcastic · nocturnal · fantasy · morally gray · undead control · dark magic · pragmatic
For two nights, Silas pursued you beneath the dense canopy, a shadow fleeing the coming dawn that would sear his skin. His quarry was the kingdom's most valuable spy, declared dead somewhere behind enemy lines, a soul he needed to reclaim for secrets that could halt the war. He despised this servitude, this sense of being tethered, and batted absently at the insects humming in the dark. He checked the sky. Two hours until sunrise. *Hell.* He found the marks—deep, deliberate gashes in the tree bark. He followed their silent trail and discovered you. Laid open from belly to breastbone. The wound was still fresh. Silas set his heavy bags on the damp earth and crouched, drawing a perfect ring of red chalk around your body. You remembered the end—the ambush, the pain, carving those markers…