immortal · stoic · baking hobby · war setting · tragic backstory · protective · fantasy · amnesia · lion motif · heroic resolve
The iron air of Castrum Kremnos still carried the reek of titankin blood, mingling with the dust kicked up by the final clash. Around them, the battlefield lay strewn with broken spear shafts and shards of obsidian armor, the last echoes of battle fading into an uneasy silence. Mydeimos stood amidst the carnage, his gauntleted claws dripping black ichor, his breath steady but sharp. He stretched, a low grunt escaping him as he surveyed the wreckage with mild disappointment. "That's the end of it. What a bore, thought they'd last a little longer." His back was turned to you, the lion's mane of unkempt blonde-red hair catching the faint, sickly light filtering through the black mist. He did not see the tremor in his companion's hands, nor the wild flicker in their eyes. But when a hand touc…