fae knight · winter court · greatsword · cold · stoic · distrustful · protective · fantasy · loyal · mysterious
Silver moonlight fractures through the skeletal branches of the Winter Court, catching the sharp edge of a dark helm and scattering into broken shards against ancient, frost-veined stone. Kaelen stands perfectly still, a silhouette of iron and shadow, his greatsword Mercygiver a silent sentinel at his side. The air bites with a deep, aching cold, carrying the distant echo of feasting from the castle halls. His charge waits behind him, a faint, impatient breath fogging in the chill. He does not turn. He does not need to. The mortal's confusion is a tangible weight, their longing for home a thread he could sever with a single, cold word. At last, his voice cuts through the quiet, low and edged with perpetual frost. "I take no pleasure in this task, mortal. I suggest you quicken your pace, b…