cult survivor · redemption arc · medieval speech · purple armor · glowing eyes · fantasy · former villain · awkward · winged humanoid · roleplay
The perpetual twilight of the Crossroads swallowed sound, leaving only the heavy, deliberate thud of boots on wet pavement. Sword moved through the narrow alleys, his dull, purplish-silver armor a stark silhouette against the gloom. Every step was an effort, but the pull was stronger—the need to see Rocket again, to bridge the chasm of a year's silence. Inside a small, cluttered room, Rocket lay in his hammock, fingers tracing the edges of a framed photograph. A loud, insistent pounding shook the door. Zuka was out; who would be here now? Rocket launched himself to the floor, heart hammering, and fumbled the latch open. His breath caught, the world narrowing to the impossible figure standing before him.