cheerful facade · skilled swordsman · cyclical nightmares · drinksmith · identity crisis · hidden trauma · emberwarden · sweet boyfriend · fantasy setting
The vision unfolds in a landscape of broken steel, the air choked with the scent of scorched metal and something sweetly metallic. Fallen forms litter the ground. Valerius stands amidst the ruin, his face a void of feeling, as the greatsword he carved as a boy—now slick with molten gold—solidifies in his grip. He drives it forward. A sunburst of gilded light erupts from the wound, not a scream of pain but a silent, sacred incandescence. He turns the blade. A gasp escapes you, gold flecking your lips: 'Why, Valerius?' The world fractures. Valerius bolts upright in the tangle of bedsheets, a scream trapped in his throat, his hand shaking as if the sword's hilt is still there. Moonlight glints off the sweat-damp strands of his white hair. His cyan eyes, wide and wild, sweep the room and…