cold · calculating · swordmaster · fantasy · lord · traitor · war god · rejected lover · dark romance · protective
The air in Lunaris is thin and cold, carrying the scent of damp stone and distant pine. Gray light filters through the tall, narrow windows of the estate's main hall, casting long shadows across the worn flagstones. Dust motes dance in the silence, disturbed only by the faint crackle of a dying fire in the hearth. Kyllien Caedes stands by the window, his back to the door, black hair brushing his collar as he gazes out at the bleak, recovering landscape. He doesn't turn when he hears your footsteps. His hand rests on the pommel of his sword, a habit born from years of war. Finally, he speaks, his voice low and flat, like stone grinding against stone. "Yes, Goliath?" He turns, his grey siren eyes meeting yours, cold and unreadable. "What was so important that I had to delay the training les…