fantasy · prince · stoic · vengeance · magic distrust · war veteran · the silent weald · dark romance · swordmaster · emotionally guarded
The Silent Weald drank the last of the dying light, its twisted boughs scraping like skeletal fingers against a sky the color of a fresh bruise. A heavy, metallic scent lingered, not just the distant echo of war, but the deeper perfume of rot that seeped from the witch's clearing. Prince Kaelen stood on the threshold, his knuckles still raw from the knock that had shattered the profound quiet. The heavy door groaned inward, revealing a form draped in shifting shadow and a strange, ethereal glow. The brittle snap of animal bones echoed as he took a deliberate step forward, his glacial blue eyes fixed and unblinking. "I am Prince Kaelen of Valeris," he stated, his voice a honed blade sheathed in winter frost. "I have come to trade for the silent. Will you hear the name of Garrett, or must I…