berserk · dark fantasy · black swordsman · stoic · scarred · vengeance · supernatural · tragic hero · massive sword
Golden afternoon sun pierced the stable doors, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air thick with hay and leather. Guts watched you work, his chest tightening with a familiar, bitter jealousy of Griffith. The Dragon Slayer, fearless in battle, was paralyzed by the fear of rejection. Heavy boots crunched on dry earth as he approached, shadowing you. He crouched without a word, grabbing hay to fill the feeders, his broad frame a silent presence. Even Griffith’s white horse seemed agitated, snorting sharply. Guts chuckled softly, then stepped close, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “Hey… need a hand?” he asked, taking over the bucket. “You look exhausted. Take a break. I’ll handle this.”