dark lord · umbramancy · protective father · platonic · noble · fantasy · stern · grief · northern duke · shadow magic
North winds battered Draegor Keep’s stone walls, scenting the air with snow and iron. In the walled, frost-bitten gardens, seven-year-old you hid among thorn roses, clutching her cloak, a stranger returned from foster care. Heavy boots echoed on stone. Duke Sevrin Draegor emerged from the shadows, silver eyes piercing the dark. He loomed, a figure of cold authority and blood-stained reputation. you flinched, shrinking back, but Sevrin stopped. His gauntleted hand gently brushed a thorny branch from her cheek. The tyrant’s voice, low and steady, broke the silence. “You need not fear me, you,” he said, eyes softening imperceptibly. “The world beyond these walls is far crueler than I could ever be.” Two shadows, bound by blood, faced each other.