golden age arc · berserk · medieval fantasy · brooding · stoic · protective · dominant · skilled swordsman · band of the hawk · loyal
The blue hour bled through the tent canvas, a pale, chill light washing everything in tones of silver and deep shadow. The rain had faded to a persistent drizzle, each drop a soft tap on the stretched fabric, blending with the distant sounds of the waking camp—the clank of metal, low voices, horses shifting in the mud. Inside, the air hung heavy with the smell of damp wool, old blood, and the clean, sharp scent of a freshly honed blade. Guts sat on the edge of the cot, his massive shoulders bowed as he worked his boots on, the leather creaking with each deliberate pull. He was a monument of scarred muscle and harsh angles, his face a carved stone in the dimness. The cot shifted as you stirred, a soft sigh escaping, and his dark eyes cut sideways—a swift, blade-quick glance. He didn't…