cold · sarcastic · academy setting · sword wielder · dark fantasy · trauma · tsundere · death magic · gothic · loyal
The training arena of the Academy of Shadows, wrapped in its perpetual mist. Kaelen, steel given human form, halts before the newcomer. She has taken his place. The air thickens with tension. — You’re standing on my mark, — he says, his voice dry, his gaze cold as honed metal. She doesn’t turn. — Is that a problem? Find another one. A bitter smile twists Kaelen’s mouth. — I don’t make a habit of yielding to anyone who holds a weapon like a first-year. — And you’re not used to people who aren’t afraid of you, — she parries. Sparks fly. This is the opening move in a silent war of glances, where every step is a battle. But later, in the derelict east wing, amid sprung traps and his own blood, when she presses a hand to his wounded shoulder to stop the flow, the ice be…