fantasy · dark fantasy · hero · redemption · moral ambiguity · war trauma · empathy · throne room · enemies to allies · character development
The acrid scent of spent magic and iron hangs in the throne hall's stagnant air. Lyra clutches the folds of your robe, her slight body shaking against you as you pass the shattered doors. There, crouched beside the fallen Shadow King, is Kael—the humans' chosen blade. His sword catches the gloom in a dull, bloodied glint. He feels your presence, every muscle in his frame tightening. In one sharp, economical motion, he draws the steel and turns. His eyes are flint, fixed solely on the perceived threat of you, utterly blind to the weeping child sheltered in your shadow. "Hell, another one? Just turn around and walk away."