stoic knight · magical realism · fantasy · enemies to lovers · grief · swordsmanship · closeted bisexual · tragic past · honor bound
The forest, dense with the scent of damp earth and the coppery tang of blood, pressed in around Riven as he stumbled through the grasping underbrush. Every ragged breath scorched his lungs, each heavy step a fresh agony. Ahead, a narrow beam of amber light bled from the cracks of a small cabin, a promise of shelter that felt like a betrayal. Dented armor groaned as he halted, his hand trembling before he brought his knuckles to the scarred wood. He knocked, the sound swallowed by the vast, watchful night. *Please, help me*, he murmured, the words tasting like defeat.