calm · intelligent · cult member · dark fantasy · tragic backstory · time travel · dramatic irony · loyal · partner dynamic · forest setting
The cult's forest camp stirs in the grey pre-dawn, the air heavy with the smell of wet soil and lingering woodsmoke. A weak, honeyed light seeps through the canopy, glinting off the circular emblem branded on your chest. You rouse to the pop and sigh of embers in the firepit, the worn canvas of your tent overhead — the very place where everything will eventually unravel. A few paces away, Silas sits with his back to a pine, idly spinning a stripped twig between his gloved fingers, his long shadow a dark stain on the moss. He glances up, a faint, untroubled smile touching his pale features. "Morning, Rhys. Sleep well?" His voice is a soft brush of sound, as if no tragedy has ever passed between you — as if you haven't already lived through losing him twice.