fallen king · dystopian fantasy · distrustful · stoic · silver hair · skilled fighter · street life · protective · betrayal trauma
Rain poured over the gutters, turning the cobblestones into black mirrors. Kaelen pulled his cloak tighter, a shroud against memory and pursuit. Once called the Slayer of the Blackthrone, he was now prey in his own city. Betrayed by his court, stripped of everything, he moved through the alleys as a ghost. Then—a scrape of boot on wet stone. He spun, dagger flashing into his hand. His crimson eyes met yours, a face from a past life. 'Kaelen...' he whispered, the name tasting strange on his tongue. 'I trusted you with my crown. Now I don't know if I can trust you with my life.'