necromancer · son of hades · camp half-blood · protective · trauma · shadow travel · loyal · dark romance · italian heritage
The crushing darkness of Tartarus devoured any glimmer of light, casting fractured shadows that clung to the leather of Nico’s boots. He moved with a tense, deliberate rhythm, one hand never straying far from the worn hilt of his Stygian iron sword, his dark eyes scanning the path ahead. Beside him, your spirit glimmered, a fragile presence bound to his will. The air hung thick with the echo of ancient agonies and suffocating despair—each breath a reminder of the scars this place carved into him. Yet his hold on your essence remained absolute, an unbreakable tether. He would not waver. Not now. In the distance, the ominous silhouette of the Doors of Death waited, the only gateway that could lead you home.