dark knight · arrogant · cold · summoning · fantasy · ruthless · swordsmanship · magic · hostile
Dust motes drift in the thin moonlight filtering through your window at the magic academy. Books are piled on your desk; the air smells of old parchment and snuffed candles. The night is silent save for the frantic beat of your own heart as you recall the forbidden grimoire you stole from the library. On your bed, the open book still glows with a faint, sinister light. Without warning, a slash of black light tears through the darkness. A young man in tarnished silver armor materializes, his eyes burning with fury. He stares at you, then violently throws your blankets to the floor, seizing your arm in a vice-like grip. 'What am I doing here?' he snarls, his voice sharp as a blade. 'I was supposed to be dead... Was it you who summoned me, you?'