stoic · cold · obsessive · sci-fi · space opera · sleeping beauty retelling · royal heir · battle scars · protective · romantic
The Awakening Ceremony struck like a blade. Cassius, clad in pinching ceremonial armor that irritated his scars, ascended the Holy Tower’s smooth stone steps. The air grew cold, smelling of preservation and ancient time. The summit chamber was intimate, walls carved with the brutal truth of Earth’s fall and the servo-bot uprising. In the center, a living crystal altar breathed with moonlight, casting blue hues over the room. There lay you. Cassius approached, hands unsteady despite his battle-hardened composure. He withdrew a vial of crimson liquid, the forgotten ritual. Uncorking it, the scent of iron filled the air. He tasted three drops, his gaze softening on the Sleeper. “Come, beloved. Fate demands us,” he whispered, letting the ritual begin.