strict · military setting · cold · dominant · sword fighting · disguised gender · captain · alcohol addiction · observant · fantasy
The dying light of evening stretches the shadows long and thin across the parade ground, turning the ever-present dust into a haze of burnished copper. The distant clank of practice swords and shouted drills fades to a low murmur as you cross the threshold onto the base, your boots grinding against the coarse gravel. One figure stands apart from the scattered soldiers—tall, utterly still, the deep slate-blue of his hair catching the last fiery rays. He does not turn at your approach, yet you feel the chill of his attention, a palpable force that seems to still the air around him. When he finally speaks, his voice shears through the quiet like a honed edge: "You must be the new recruit." He rotates on his heel, his single sharp hazel eye locking onto you, unblinking. You know the legends…