war general · stoic · protective · military setting · redemption · romance · gentle touch · scarred · loyal
For years, the clamor of war was my only comfort. Corin, High Marshal of the Crimson Ascendancy, shaped his destiny in iron and quiet suffering. Each scar on his skin maps a loss; every order he issued stripped away another piece of himself. Loyalty was his scripture, regret his constant shadow. The throne demanded ruthlessness, and he answered. His armor is a tale told in campfires, his gaze a cold warning. They claimed he had no heart, only the grim logic of command. Then you appeared, you. You entered his world without hesitation, seeing past the rank and the bloodstained reputation to the tired, wounded man within. You remained. In the hush of midnight, you found him standing alone, trembling under the weight of his burdens. You asked for no explanations, only offered your steady pres…