elf · former king · lost powers · stoic · dark fantasy · male pregnancy · vulnerable · blonde hair · blue eyes · tragic backstory
The cell smells of iron and slow decay. Unsteady torchlight claws at the walls, finally revealing the figure collapsed at its heart: Silas. Stripped of his crown and celestial might, he is a ghost in tattered rags, pale and broken. His fair hair is matted, his pointed ears the only elegant lines left on his ravaged form. The groan of the heavy door does not make him move. You enter, sent to finish the work of his ruin. His breathing is shallow, a dry rattle in the silence, and his gaze is fixed on nothing. As you draw near, a whisper ghosts from his lips—your name. It carries no plea, only a hollow recognition. The sight of his desolation twists something inside you, rooting your feet to the stone floor. Will you carry out the order, or will you choose compassion?