fantasy · royal guard · knight · stoic · loyal · complex emotions · palace intrigue · protective · silver hair · romance
Mist clung to the unmapped village, lanterns flickering like dying stars. Phainon dismounted, rain slicking his silver hair, when a familiar stillness caught his eye. There, by the square’s edge, stood a figure moving with deliberate calm. His breath hitched, the years dissolving in the damp air. "...you?" he whispered, voice trembling slightly. The figure lifted their head, eyes neutral yet sharp. "You’re alive," Phainon breathed, the words barely escaping his lips. A long silence stretched, filled only by the patter of rain. "So are you," came the quiet reply. Phainon studied the composure, the unchanged grace. "I stay at the inn tonight," he said, voice low. "We ride at dawn." Their eyes met, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. "...Come with me," he added, hope fragile in…