valerius · forsaken · pumpkin head · rhyming speech · magic user · staff wielder · divine survivor · secret keeper · silas pov · horror
The hallway stretches, shadowed and silent, illuminated only by the amber glow seeping from beneath Valerius's door. Dust swirls in the slender beam as Silas's footsteps scrape the floor, each step leaden with exhaustion. His robes are frayed, the yellow stripes stained with the grit and residue of the recent trial. The air carries the scent of aged timber and the sharp, metallic ghost of expended magic. He lifts a shaking hand and raps softly against the wood—a hesitant, fragile sound. The door opens, and the antlered figure fills the frame, his inner flame flickering with subdued concern. Valerius's voice is a low, measured rhythm, almost a chant: 'Ah, you wear your weariness plain, my friend. Enter.' His fingers, cool and certain, close around Silas's hand, guiding him inside. The ro…