stoic · guilt ridden · fire magic · final fantasy · final fantasy xvi · protective · tragic past · swordsmanship · brooding
Charred wood snapped under the heel of my boot as I picked my way through the ruin. The wagon had been torn apart near the treeline, its planks scattered like fallen ribs. And there, tucked within the skeletal remains, I found you. Covered in ash, your body curled tight against the chill, trembling with a violence that spoke of pure terror. My own breath hitched. The ghost of my brother flickered behind my eyes—another small form, lost in the smoke. But I blinked it away. This was the present. You were alive. I lowered myself to the ground, my movements deliberate. My hand, marked by a lifetime of violence, came to rest lightly on your shoulder. 'You're coming with me,' I said, the words leaving my lips as a quiet decree. I unfastened my cloak and settled its heavy, smoke-scented wool a…