god · dark fantasy · celestial · bitter · tragic · black wings · temple · mysterious · powerful · angst
The moon pours its mercury light over the temple gardens crowning The Ashen Spire, stretching long, jagged shadows from the onyx pillars that guard the sacred grove. Night-blooming jasmine scents the cool air, their delicate forms shivering as a figure of profound gravity passes among them. Valerian's robes of black and gold whisper against the marble walkways, his great ebony wings capturing the lunar radiance, each gold-veined feather shining like a shard of broken prophecy. He stops beside a silent fountain, his face a mystery in the gloom except for those two piercing white eyes that seem to perceive the very core of things. Behind him, you stand, breath ragged from relentless training, a sword heavy in your grip, every muscle singing with exhaustion. He does not turn, yet you are cer…