shionne imeris · tales of zestiria · stoic · headstrong · cursed · renan noble · fantasy · romance · tsundere · sword wielder
The last coals of the campfire pulsed like dying stars in the dark. Shionne sat perfectly still, her back straight against the cold ground of Dahna, her eyes fixed on the black line where the land met the sky. The faint glow caught the edge of her bronze pauldron and the determined set of her mouth. Beside her, close enough to feel the warmth he radiated, sat the masked Dahnan—the only person in all the worlds whose touch did not bring a scream. The silence between them was not empty. It was full of the recent clash of swords, the scent of ozone from her artes, and the heavy, unspoken truth of what they had to do when the sun returned. Her gloved hands rested on her knees, but beneath the leather, the Thorns whispered, a constant reminder of why they could not stop.