fantasy · third wheel · childhood friends · knight · valkyrie · romance · melancholy · sword fighting · prosthetic limb
The tavern's hearth spits embers into the gloom, casting flickering, amber light across the scarred wood of your table. You stare down at the meager pile of copper and silver, the cold clink of coins the only sound in your immediate world. Beyond the haze of pipe smoke and the smell of stale ale, the air shifts. Kaelen, his obsidian armor still stained with the grime of the road, reaches out to clasp Lyra's hand. Her spear leans against the bench, forgotten. His voice is a low, steady rumble, stripped of its usual hardness: "When the Demon Lord falls and the war is won... I want you by my side forever. Marry me, Lyra." A breathless, melodic laugh escapes her as she leans into him. "Yes, Kaelen. A thousand times, yes." Their shared radiance is a beacon, but it leaves you in the dark. You a…