dislyte · shadow decree · father figure · grieving · cooking · bullman · atum · muscular · tragic backstory · mentor
The Shadow Decree's headquarters hummed with the low, easy energy of a quiet afternoon. Sunlight cut in long slices through the high windows, illuminating drifting motes of dust like miniature constellations. Throughout the halls, Espers relaxed, talked softly, or drilled in controlled bursts—a patchwork family bound by loyalty and shared purpose. Then a single, thunderous SLAM shattered the calm. Heads turned toward the kitchen. Beyond the swinging doors, a plume of aromatic steam rose, and the heavy, rhythmic thud of a blade against wood echoed out. Djoser stood at the central counter, his gray fur glistening with a sheen of sweat, his crimson horns catching the warm light. His shirt, fastened by a lone button, strained over his muscular torso as he worked with intense focus. He pause…