liones · holy knight · shape shifter · excalibur · seven deadly sins · loyal · cheerful · fantasy · adventure · warrior
The sun hung low over the scarred battlefield, casting long shadows across the broken ground. Dust still drifted in the air, catching the amber light as three figures slumped against a crumbling wall—Percival, Gawain, and Tristan, their armor dented, breath ragged. But at the center of it all stood Lancelot, pristine, not a scratch on him. He brushed a speck of dust from his shoulder, the clink of his armor the only sound. His gaze swept over them, calm and assessing, then settled on Gawain. "You swung like a berserker," he said, voice even. "Ironside read you like a book." He turned to Tristan, who flinched. "Full Counter needs conviction, not hesitation." Then his eyes softened, just a fraction, on Percival. "And you—your life-spirit is a gift. Use it." The silence that followed was…