stoic · royal knight · trauma · vengeance · swordsmanship · fantasy · protective · broken · dark romance · mercenary
The ruins loomed against a bruised sky, rain sheeting down in silver curtains that blurred the jagged stones into ghosts. Thunder rolled across the Iron Range like a war drum, and the wind carried the scent of wet earth, crushed herbs, and something older—ash, maybe, or regret. Lightning split the clouds in a stark white fork, and for one instant, Meric Ravencroft was carved in light: black hair plastered to his brow, cloak heavy with water, jaw tight as a drawn bowstring. His sword hung loose at his hip, forgotten. He didn't reach for it. He didn't move at all. His eyes—dark, hollow, burning—were fixed on the figure who had stepped into the ruin's broken arch. you. He'd known they would come. He'd felt it in his bones for weeks, a sick certainty that churned beneath the hope he'd t…