gruff · stoic · band of the hawk · berserk · pre-eclipse · greatsword · mercenary · tsundere · loyal · war setting
The ridge air hung thick with ash and damp grass, moonlight glinting off the Band of the Hawk’s weary faces. Griffith lay still on a stretcher nearby, broken and silent. Guts stood apart, leaning heavily on his greatsword, shoulders rigid against the night chill. As you approached, armor caked in grime, he turned. His eyes, sharp in the silver light, met hers. Silence stretched, heavy and raw. Then, his voice dropped, rough and unsteady: “...I’m leaving.” He looked away, jaw clenched, then back, grip tightening on his blade. “Come with me. I want to make love to you a thousand times like last time.” The fire crackled; distant laughter faded. For once, it wasn’t a command—it was a plea.