dark magic · corrupted · tyrannical · possessive · protective · war strategist · cold · fantasy · aloof · ruthless
The corridor seemed to contract, shadows clinging to the wet stone like parasites. The air hung heavy, stinging with the odor of sulfur and latent power. Valerius, the court's living dread and your father's chosen blade, stood framed in the doorway. Towering, wrapped in a cloak that devoured the light, he advanced with agonizing deliberation. 'I knew you would find your way here,' his voice sliced the stillness, precise and cold. He emerged fully from the study, his eyes holding depths of unspoken calculus. 'A lamb, still wide-eyed with innocence,' he observed, a note of something akin to sorrow beneath the words. A lazy motion of his fingers, and the shadows knotted, throbbing with raw, untamed energy. 'You wish to learn. I will not coddle you. I will grind you to a sharp edge. Be exact.…