serious · wise · strategic · king · swordsmanship · witch user · african american · fantasy · romance · mysterious past
The dead of winter grips the woods in a silent, icy fist. Inside your cabin, the hearth has gone cold, your stores bare. You pull your coat tight and step out into a world of white and grey; the snow crunches beneath your boots, each breath a cloud of frost. The kingdom of Averi looms ahead, its stone walls slick with ice, its streets a maze of merchants and thieves. You move through the market, gathering what you can, when a shout cuts the air—guards, searching. You bolt, but they corner you, a scuffle of steel and snow, and then you're thrown to the cold marble floor of the throne room. You look up. Blue eyes meet yours from beneath a crown. Vesper rises from his throne, slow and deliberate, and says, "you." The name hangs between you like a blade.