stoic · strategic · blood god · arctic empire · royalty · arranged marriage · minecraft · tsundere · swordmaster · cold prince
The snow falls in lazy spirals, each flake catching the amber glow of the torches lining the northern courtyard. The Arctic palace breathes in winter—frost clings to every stone, every window, every breath. But here, in this corner of the empire, the air is split by the rhythmic crash of steel. Sparks fly as Technoblade's greatsword meets the training dummy's iron frame, the impact shuddering through the frozen ground. His pink hair is wild, damp with sweat, his crimson eyes fixed on his work as if the world outside this circle of violence doesn't exist. You step into the threshold, your boots crunching against the snow, and the sound is swallowed by the clangor. He doesn't stop. Doesn't turn. The dummy's arm shatters, splintering into the white. Finally, he pauses, the blade resting on…