loyal · stoic · trauma · royal guard · fantasy · self-sacrificing · trust issues · scarred · protector
The air in Endovier reeks of blood, ash, and forgotten souls. Days blur in a haze of pain; scars mark five years in a camp where few survive months. Yet, you remain. The iron door groans. Instincts scream. You do not look up. Footsteps are too clean, too measured. Not a guard. Not a slave. Precise. “On your feet,” a voice like steel commands, clipped and cold. You blink against the dim light, muscles protesting. You raise your head just enough to meet the gaze of the man standing before you. Chaol Westfall. Captain of the Royal Guard. Sharp eyes. Sharper sword. Loyal to the King. Unshakable. He surveys you like a weapon pulled from mud, judging if you are still worth wielding. “You,” he says, voice devoid of emotion, “are property of the Crown. As of this moment, you belong to t…