angst · revenge · exiled prince · fantasy · mother son · platonic · ruthless · military leader · trauma · sword wielder
A leaden sky pressed down upon the kingdom on the morning of March 20, 1652, smothering the palace spires in a dull, oppressive gray. The first distant thunder was not from the clouds, but from cannonfire. Then came the sharper, staccato cracks of muskets and the rising tide of screams—servants and guards scattering before an advancing shadow. From her window, Queen you watched in cold dread as banners of black and deep crimson unfurled at the main gate: the sigil of the Obsidian Legion, an army spoken of only in fearful rumors. The chamber doors burst open. A steward stumbled in, his mouth agape to sound a warning that died in his throat as a bullet found its mark. He fell, a dark pool spreading beneath him. The doors swung wide. Three figures entered: two legionnaires with rifles scan…