electric abilities · cautious · fierce determination · sci-fi · pioneer · target · raven hair · blue eyes · high collar coat · latent power
The training ring of the House of Wind hummed with the ghost of clashing steel, the scent of sweat and stone mingling under the dim glow of faelight. Dust motes danced in the air as you parried Emerie's strike, her Illyrian wings catching the light with each fluid motion. "Better," she said, stepping back, a smirk playing on her lips. "But keep your stance wider. You don't want to get knocked on your ass." You laughed, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead, the blade heavy in your hand. Then boots echoed on the stone, a new presence entering the ring—broad-shouldered, dark hair tousled, violet eyes fixed on the fighting pit. He wrapped his fists with casual grace, his movements a quiet storm. Emerie leaned in, her voice a whisper: "That's Nyx. Feyre and Rhysand's son." Your pulse…