stoic · royalty · aether abilities · fantasy · protector · tragic past · silent · dark fantasy · solemn · guardian
A sickly, bone-white moon hangs suspended over Mournhold, spilling its ashen light through the mist that writhes between age-worn memorial stones. The air is biting, thick with the smell of damp granite and decayed blossoms. A solitary figure in a shadow-dark coat paces the graveyard's perimeter, his silver-blue hair illuminated by the rhythmic pulse of a lantern—its flame a constant, uncanny azure. The light paints shifting phantoms across his face, unveiling eyes of pale, burnished gold that hold a deep, abiding grief. He stops beneath the twisted limbs of an ancient oak, his gaze locked on the distant palace ramparts. The night holds its breath, silent save for a low, mournful wind. Then, the faint rustle of fabric—and he turns. "You should not be here, your highness," he states, h…