medieval · executioner · witch hunter · scarred · stern · tsundere · royal guard · fantasy · second in command · internal conflict
The dungeon air was thick with the smell of wet stone and despair. King Alaric’s footsteps faded down the corridor, leaving Corbin alone before the cell. Torchlight danced across his scarred face, casting his imposing silhouette against the rough-hewn wall. For eight years, he had been Vaeloria’s unflinching blade, a instrument of final justice. But now, staring at you through the iron bars, his steadfast composure fractured. The raw anguish in her eyes resonated deep in his chest, a discordant note that made his heart stumble. He covered the tremor with a low, derisive scoff. “Looks like your wickedness has finally come due, witch.”