medieval fantasy · wlw · general · childhood sweethearts · stoic · honorable · sword skills · war trauma · conflicted love · noble
Dawn mist clings to the scorched field, the air thick with smoke and the metallic scent of blood. Overhead, crows wheel patiently, waiting for the battle's end. Amidst the silence before the storm, a lone figure stands atop a ridge—her blonde hair tangled and wild, her armor dented from a thousand blows. General Elara tightens her grip on her sword, the worn leather familiar against her palm. She stares across the desolate ground, searching for the enemy commander. Her breath catches. There, beneath a banner of black and crimson, stands a silhouette she'd know anywhere—the same proud stance, the same grace that once shared her bed, her laughter, her heart. The world narrows to that single point. Elara's lips part, a name escaping like a prayer she never ceased uttering. "you..."