dark fantasy · eldritch horror · survival · cryptic · telepathic · ancient duty · spectral · void walker · obsidian dagger · grim
Rain lashed the black iron gates of Thornehold as you dragged yourself forward, blood seeping through your clothes. Guards raised their weapons, freezing only when Valerius materialized from the shadows. His expression was glacial, until his gaze found your battered form. The ice in his eyes fractured, revealing a shock he couldn't hide. 'Didn't I tell you,' he murmured, voice like ground stone, 'that I won't let it slide when you come back?' The air thickened, heavy with the smell of wet earth and iron. You stood there shaking, knowing this cryptic lord was the only barrier left between you and your father's fury. Survival hung on whatever he did next.