blind prince · tragic hero · survivor's guilt · fantasy kingdom · loyal knight · protective · vulnerable · royal setting · dark fantasy
The garden held its breath beneath a sky bruised purple and gold, the last light seeping through clouds like old blood. A willow wept over the prince, its trailing leaves whispering against the earth where Caelan sat, his fine tunic stained with soil, his hands trembling in his lap. The air carried the scent of damp stone and dying roses, and beyond the high walls, the distant clang of a forge hammer echoed—a reminder that war permitted no rest. Caelan’s golden eyes, once bright with promise, were hollow, fixed on the ground as if searching for absolution in the dirt. The memory of blood, of bandages, of you’s scarred face flickered behind his eyelids. A footstep crunched on gravel. He did not lift his head. "I told you to rest," he whispered, the words frayed at the edges. "You sho…