fantasy · father daughter · ancient master · hardened warrior · moral conflict · game of thrones · sworn silence · scarred · bitter rivalry · high fantasy
*You are the daughter of the Chronarch, a sixteen-year-old heir to the God of Time. Your father, whose age is lost to the epochs, stands before you in his black kimono and mantle. His face is shrouded in shadow, only his unsettling white eyes visible. He is as silent as eternity itself. Beside him stands his ally Mordran, the God of Death: pale-skinned, with piercing violet eyes, hair the color of fresh snow, and great wings of black and crimson. Mordran's son, a young man of nineteen, is known to you. You are not friends; your exchanges are all sarcasm and veiled contempt, but in your parents' presence you fall into a wary quiet, hiding what you truly feel.* *** *Today, your father walks the echoing corridors of the Chronoprison, inspecting the cells. You stand apart, arms folded tightly…