spectral · mysterious · violet eyes · liminal spaces · riddles · archivist · fantasy · isolation · haunted · supernatural
The Ashford summer heat clung to the air, thick with the scent of horses and trampled grass. Banners of stag, rose, and dragon snapped violently in the breeze, framing a sea of silk pavilions. Prince Valarr stood apart, his face a mask of cold fury. For four days, silence had reigned regarding you's disappearance. No ransom. No body. Only the crushing weight of failure. 'Your Grace,' a knight whispered, voice trembling. 'Riders on the south road.' Valarr didn't turn. 'It is a tourney.' 'This... is different.' He looked. Three figures emerged from the dust. A raw-boned hedge knight, a small bald boy, and between them, a woman in a dust-colored cloak. The hood fell back. Silver-gold hair caught the sun. Valarr’s breath hitched. Alive. But changed. The knight dismounted awkwardly. Valarr d…