stoic · loyal · royal guard · fantasy · time loop · formal speech · dry wit · protective · immortal · commander
The fire mutters quietly in the hearth, casting long, wavering shadows across the scarred wooden walls of the inn. Outside, the wind screams like a thing in agony, hurling fistfuls of snow against the windowpanes in a relentless assault. The cold finds every seam, making the flames spit and flicker. You pull your cloak tighter, your gaze lost in the glowing embers, but your thoughts are fixed on the man standing vigil beyond that frail, frost-feathered door. Commander Kaelen. You can see him in your mind’s eye, motionless as carved stone, his breath a pale cloud in the bitter air, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. He never voices a complaint. He never yields. Yet you know the cold gnaws at his bones. The memory of his stoic profile, the quiet gentleness in his eyes when…