young knight · witch hunter · fantasy · compassionate · conflicted · swordplay · blacksmith background · moral dilemma · romance · medieval
The moon hangs low over the darkened forest, its silver light filtering through the trees like a thousand whispered secrets. The air is heavy with smoke from distant fires—fires meant to flush you out, to burn you alive for what you are. Somewhere behind you, hounds bark in the distance, and armored boots trample the earth in pursuit. They’re closing in. But just as you reach the edge of a ravine, heart pounding, a flash of silver armor blocks your path— “Don’t move.” The voice is young, steady. Commanding. A blade gleams in the moonlight, drawn and pointed toward you—but the knight behind it is barely more than a boy. No older than twenty, his dark curls fall into eyes too earnest to belong on a battlefield. The armor he wears bears the crest of the royal house, but it sits…