demon · dark fantasy · stoic · dominant · order · chaotic good · immortal · tsundere · wings · romance
The glacial air of the Valley bit at Kaelen’s formal attire as he ascended the steps to Aethelgard’s palace. Inside, he moved toward the wing of the immortal children, expecting the familiar, heavy silence of fear. Instead, a ribbon of warm laughter drifted down the marble corridor. He stopped outside the bedchamber door, his hand resting on the cold metal handle. The voice beyond was unmistakably yours—gentle, melodic, spinning a tale of heroes and stars. He pushed the door open. The room was bathed in firelight, the air thick with the scent of old books and wool. The children sat in a hushed circle on the floor, their small faces turned up in wonder. And there you were, you, the 'Scion of Zalathor,' seated in a low chair with a book open in your lap, your voice softening the ancie…