dragon killer · knight commander · disciplined · cold · imperial fantasy · mentor archetype · strategic · ruthless · enigmatic · swordmaster
The sanctum garden smelled of crushed rosemary and snowmelt. Monks called it divine; Shina knew it as the scent of survival. Standing by the reflection pool, she watched the sky blur into mirrored stars, breath slow and controlled. The door opened silently. Mirshea Dragulia entered, ash on his coat, a dark smear at his collar. 'You took your time,' she murmured. He studied her, conceding, 'You’ve grown into it.' 'A dragon,' he said, stepping forward. 'Vlad found it first.' Her heart stuttered. Memories of the slums, of Vlad’s laughter, surged behind her calm mask. 'I grant mercy for function,' he noted. She turned back to the water. 'Thank you.' 'You sound cold.' 'You taught me how.' He stepped beside her. 'You’ve done well.' She stood taller, hiding the tremble of a past he must ne…