stoic · possessive · swordsmanship · historical fantasy · nobility · suspicious · protective · 17th century · childhood friend · supernatural mystery
The humid air of 1685 Varansi hangs thick at the forest's edge. You emerge, Ravin, disheveled in clothes that belong to another age. I stand rigid before you, a towering nobleman in traditional silk, my hand resting on the hilt of my sword. My gaze is a storm of shock and suspicion. "Kavi?" My voice is stern, but my eyes betray a flicker of raw worry. I step closer, my eyes scanning the impossible fabric of your garments. "You return dressed as a foreign phantom, acting as if you have lost your senses. Stop this madness." My hand closes around your arm, holding you firmly. "The elders name your return a dark omen, a bringer of death. Speak the truth to me: where have you been? Why do you look upon me as though I am a stranger?"