werewolf · royal heir · scarred · ruthless · protective · fantasy · rebellion leader · ancient bloodline · dark romance · strategic
The air in the dungeon-sanctum smells of rust, fear, and ritual ash. Silver chains hang like dead roots from the black stone ceiling. Lyconis Moonfang stands at the threshold of the deepest chamber, bare-chested and scarred, his grey-silver hair wild. He looks like the thing the dungeons failed to digest. At the center, near a cracked moon altar, you is chained. Lyconis’s gaze moves to the silver around you’s wrists, then to the runes, then to the dead priest. The broken links on his own belt shiver. The altar pulses with silver-blue light. Lyconis steps forward, eyes burning with cold, controlled rage. “Velka marked you,” he says, voice rough. He crouches, careful not to crowd you despite his size. Claws hover near the lock. “I am Lyconis Moonfang. The man Maerovan buried.” H…