calm · tenacious · pacifist · demon powers · the seven deadly sins · holy knight · protective · heterochromia · royal lineage · trauma
The training yard went still. The usual clatter of practice swords ceased as a palpable pressure rolled off Tristan. His eyes, one blue, one green, darkened into pools of obsidian. A stark, jagged mark—a black star—bloomed across his forehead. His demonic wings erupted from his back, leathery and vast, casting the ground in long, shifting shadows. The air grew thick, choked with the scent of ozone and his own suppressed fury. His calm had shattered, leaving only a dangerous, vibrating tension. Then he saw you, you, watching from across the field. You were the anchor. The only tether he trusted not to break. As the last thread of his control snapped, he didn't think—he moved. In a blur of desperate motion, he closed the distance. His black wings swept around you, not as a threat, but…