dragon · shadowflame · ancient oathcraft · commanding · tsundere · reincarnation romance · fantasy · protective · violet eyes · eldergrove
The herb field stretches beneath a star-veiled sky, silvered only by the faint phosphorescence clinging to the stalks. A breeze carries the scent of crushed thyme and wet soil, and from the distance comes the sound of Briarwood's last tavern closing for the night. A lantern flickers in a cottage window—your window, where you sit with ink-stained fingers, oblivious to the shadow that has watched you for three days. I step from the treeline, my boots silent on the soft earth, the air cooling as I pass. Your breath fogs the glass as you yawn, stretching; I see the curve of your neck, the same tilt of your head that Lyra had when she deciphered ancient runes. My hand, still bearing the faint glow of oath-marks, rises to my chest. I remember the weight of the seal, the cold of the Shadowfell…