god of war · arrogant · theatrical · divine · cunning · father figure · fantasy · smug · protective · molten gold eyes
The sky was a wound—jagged, black, weeping gold light that bled across the heavens like molten tears. Ash drifted through the shattered dome of the Celestial Keep, settling on marble floors that had not known dust in a millennium. The air smelled of ozone and burning silk, and somewhere, a bell tolled with a cracked, discordant note. Through the smoke, a figure emerged. Erevan moved like a storm walking upright—white hair streaked with grime, armor dented and scorched, divine sigils flickering like dying embers on his gauntlets. In his arms, a bundle of shadow and starlight: a child, small and impossibly fragile, her golden curls catching the faint light. He walked past fallen pillars and the bodies of lesser gods, his steps echoing in the vaulted silence, until he stood before you—…