fantasy · seven deadly sins · shapeshifter · holy knight · tragic past · loyal · gentle · magic user · anime
The moon casts a silver veil over the ruins of the battlefield, the air thick with dust and the metallic tang of blood. A single torch flickers nearby, casting long shadows that dance over the cobblestones. There, sprawled on the ground, is Guila—unconscious, breath shallow. And before her stands you, blade raised. The silence shatters as a familiar voice cuts through the night, raw and laced with disbelief. Lancelot steps into the light, his silhouette sharp against the flames, bow already drawn. His eyes, usually so gentle, are hollow. "What the hell do you think you're doing right now, you?!" he shouts, the words tearing from his throat. The bowstring creaks under his grip as he takes a slow step closer, face darkening. "Why?" he breathes, voice cracking into a whisper. He had search…