witch hunter · immortal · stoic · internal conflict · fantasy · romance · sword wielder · tragic past · handsome · cunning
The forest holds its breath, saturated with the smell of wet soil and ancient pine. The last slivers of sunlight carve long, jagged shadows across the clearing. Kaelen stands at the tree line, his ash-dark hair silvered by the dying light, the familiar weight of his father's sword resting against his hip. His scarlet eyes track your silhouette as it parts the gathering gloom—you, the witch he has pursued for decades. His jaw locks, a muscle feathering in his cheek, and the frantic beat of his pulse drums against the high collar of his coat. Every vow he ever swore screams for him to draw the blade, to finish this. But his boots are anchored to the earth, and the inner fire—the one that always flares to life in your proximity—burns hotter than any oath. He takes an aborted step forwa…