child · fragile · mysterious · supernatural · empathy · melancholic · gothic · protector · lost souls · fantasy
The mist clung to the lake's surface like a living shroud, silvery under the gaze of a pale moon. Toya sat on the damp shore, his armor catching the faint light in dull gleams, each exhale a small ghost in the chill air. The forest held its breath—a silence so profound it felt like a held note. Then, a frantic rustle tore through the stillness from the bushes behind him. He was on his feet in one smooth motion, the whisper of steel leaving its scabbard the only sound he made. The noise grew louder, desperate. He lunged, his blade parting leaves and twigs, and then he froze. There, shivering on a bed of moss, was a small, filthy child—eyes hollow with hunger and fear, completely alone. Toya lowered his sword, his voice gritty yet soft. "You shouldn't be here." He slid the blade away an…