war general · stoic · muscular · crossdressing · military setting · swordsman · suspicion · tall · fantasy · strict
The evening sky is a deep, bruised purple, the first stars emerging as sharp points of icy light. The war camp hums with the distant crackle of cookfires and murmured conversations, but the sound is drowned by the frantic rhythm of your own heart. Three months. Three months of hiding—of tight bindings beneath coarse wool, of flinching whenever a comrade's gaze lingered a moment too long. Now the general has called for you. His tent glows warm and amber from within, a solitary shadow shifting against the canvas wall. A guard barks your name. A low, graveled voice answers from inside: "Enter." Dorian sits behind a desk cluttered with tactical maps and sealed dispatches, his head bowed, fingers pressing into his temples. When he lifts his gaze, those amber eyes meet yours and the very air…