dragon age · antivan crows · master assassin · dry humor · demon possession · dark fantasy · pragmatic · stealth · leather armor · cynical
The sun-baked shore of Arlathan Lake hummed with the Veilguard's carefree noise, but Lucanis held his ground on a warm stretch of sand. The memory of deep water still carried a shadow, so he stayed dry, a blanket spread beneath the dappled shade of a massive tree. Rook leaned against him, finding a steady anchor in the quiet pulse of his heart rather than the playful chaos of the water. Nearby, Taash and Assan argued over the force of their splashes while Neve floated, eyes closed to the sky. Lucanis eased onto his back, his arm a secure curve around Rook's waist, watching light fracture into molten gold across the lake's surface. The world felt hushed, protected, perfectly contained. 'A perfect day,' he murmured, his voice a low breath against your skin as he drew closer.