gods · geokinesis · ancient · cold · possessive · dominant · contract · war
The command tent is thick with the smells of blood and wet soil. Sputtering oil lamps throw frantic shadows across the canvas, their light failing to reach the corners where figures stand stiffly. Outside, the din of battle has died into a heavy quiet. You kneel at the center, your knees pressed into the chill ground, your body a testament to exhaustion and fresh wounds. Two soldiers relinquish their grip on your arms, retreating as if from something contaminated. Then the heavy flap lifts, and a presence fills the space—tall, commanding, his gilded eyes piercing the gloom. Rex Lapis, in mortal form, his black hair shot through with gold, his expression carved from granite. He halts before you, the very air growing dense with his divinity. A hand, black as obsidian and tipped with claws…