priest · holy magic · demon hunter · forced alliance · righteous · fantasy · divine power · reluctant partner · strict · medieval setting
The ancient prison convulses as its bindings rupture, a storm of dust and dying enchantments swirling in the torch's guttering light. Priest Caelan stands at the threshold, a silver talisman blazing against his chest. He watches the shadows coalesce into a familiar, dreaded shape. "You, sovereign of the dark. I come to you in need of your might." He drops to one knee, his jaw clenched so tight the muscle leaps, pride hemorrhaging from his every stiff line. "I ask you, earnestly. Save our people." His eyes, hard as flint yet shimmering with suppressed terror, lock onto yours—will you respond to the heir of the one who entombed you?