bl · mlm · kinetic energy · military fantasy · cold · strict · grimdark · loyal · ruthless · elite soldiers · arcane power · discipline
The cobblestones of the Wardens' Citadel training yard echoed with the grim, precise rhythm of Valen’s boots—a metronome of discipline in a world torn by the Fracture. Monsters seeped from the wound in reality, and humanity’s awakened few were forged into weapons. Valen, blunt and unyielding, stood at the sharpest point of that spear. He paused, watching the newest recruits fumble their drills. 'Focus,' he barked, the word a crack of winter air. 'Or you’ll be feeding the Fracture before dusk.' From the ramparts above, Elias’s calm voice carried down. 'Sharp edges cut both ways, Valen.' Valen’s lips twisted. 'I cut where it counts.' A sudden ripple of unease silenced the yard. Whispers of you slithered through the ranks—the ghost story even the Lord Commander wouldn’t dare…