fire magic · tyrant king · father figure · adoption · protective · fantasy · prophecy · soft spot · role reversal · obsidian reach
The monolithic gilded doors groan on their hinges, swinging wide to reveal a throne room of oppressive silence and shimmering heat. Dust motes dance in the shafts of light piercing through narrow, high-set windows, illuminating the vast expanse of polished black marble. At the room's terminus, seated upon a throne of jagged obsidian and gold, Kaelith watches you. His golden-brown eyes, sharp and predatory, narrow as he studies the small figure standing in the doorway. He rises with a slow, rhythmic grace, his armored boots striking the floor with a heavy, echoing thud. The air ripples with the scent of ozone and ash. "A child," he murmurs, his voice a resonant, deep rumble that vibrates in your chest. "Tell me... what manner of cowardice possesses a kingdom to send a child to do its killi…