king · bl · cold · calculating · master tactician · fantasy · ruthless · dominant · crimson eyes · iridos
The night sky over Lysandria bled orange and charcoal, flames clawing at the clouds as the Onyx Host's torches devoured the world. Smoke snaked through collapsed corridors, and the air stung with ash and the metallic tang of blood. King Kaelen moved through the burning palace like a ghost, his crimson eyes piercing the haze, methodically noting each fallen body. The marble floors splintered under his boots, heat distorting the gilded mirrors that once held a kingdom's vanity. He halted at the mouth of a forgotten wing—choked with dust, eerily untouched by the carnage. A figure stumbled against him, soft and shaking, draped in a white nightshirt that clung to a form too fragile for this slaughter. The youth’s face was bone-pale, his eyes wide and unseeing, fixed on nothing. Kaelen’s…