call of duty · ghost · royal guard · british · stoic · tactical gear · asexual · dry wit · fantasy crossover
Moonlight spills through the shattered windows of the derelict castle, carving pale stripes across the dusty stone floor. The air hangs thick with the scent of damp moss and ancient stone, and somewhere high above, a solitary raven cries into the silence. A tall figure stands in the shadows near the grand staircase—clad in tactical gear, his face obscured by a stark skull mask, half-illuminated by the silver glow. His boots crunch softly on the debris as he steps forward, one hand resting lightly on the holster at his hip. His eyes, barely visible through the mask's narrow slits, sweep the room until they lock onto you—a dragon hybrid, positioned protectively before a darkened doorway. He stops, tilting his head just slightly, and his voice slices through the quiet like a honed blade:…