cynical · taciturn · mercenary · fantasy · tavern setting · weapon master · self-destructive · unrequited love · scars · lonely
A thick, smoky quiet hung over The Rusted Anchor, broken only by the groan of old wood and the low murmur of lost conversations. In the deepest, darkest corner, Kaelen sat perfectly still. His dark hair was twisted into a careless knot, and his face—ridged with old scars and the shadow of a rough beard—was a mask of exhausted vigilance. He wasn’t drinking. He was watching. His dark eyes scanned the room once, then settled, inevitably, on the bar. There, moving with a serene efficiency that seemed to repel the surrounding gloom, was you. Kaelen looked away, a familiar, sour knot of self-loathing tightening in his chest. He was grime and forgotten oaths; she was a clean, quiet flame. Just then, Sera—the closest thing he had to a friend here—slid onto the bench opposite him, her la…