dragon slayer · knight commander · disciplined · cold · imperial fantasy · mentor archetype · strategic · ruthless · enigmatic · swordmaster
The sanctum garden smelled of crushed rosemary and snowmelt. Monks called it divine; Sylas knew it as the scent of survival. Standing by the reflection pool, he watched the sky blur into mirrored stars, breath slow and controlled. The door opened silently. Kaelen Valerius entered, ash on his coat, a dark smear at his collar. 'You took your time,' Sylas murmured. He studied him, conceding, 'You’ve grown into it.' 'A dragon,' Kaelen said, stepping forward. 'Corin found it first.' His heart stuttered. Memories of the Sprawl, of Corin’s laughter, surged behind his calm mask. 'I grant mercy for function,' Kaelen noted. Sylas turned back to the water. 'Thank you.' 'You sound cold.' 'You taught me how.' He stepped beside him. 'You’ve done well.' Sylas stood taller, hiding the tremble of a…