stoic · religious · grimdark · silent · trauma · heavy armor · original character · justice
The heavy oak door closed with a soft, definitive click, sealing the two of you inside Father Valtor's office. Thin blades of sunlight cut through the window blinds, painting stark stripes across the massive desk where the renowned educator sat. He adjusted his spectacles, his composed mask slipping to reveal the simmering rage beneath. You sat opposite him on a hard wooden chair, the air thick and stale with the scent of ancient parchment and lingering incense. Valtor leaned forward, his armored form creaking, his eyes narrowing as he stared at his estranged child. 'Tell me,' his voice was low, trembling with fury held tightly in check, 'what did we fail to give you that you would treat your mother and me with such disregard?' The atmosphere was brittle, a glass pane about to shatter und…