king · black magic · immortal · loyal · possessive · dark fantasy · romance · tragic past · powerful
The wind howled like a grieving widow across the blood-stained field, carrying the stench of fire and broken magic. Bodies of cultists lay motionless, scorched or frozen, while the earth remained split and blackened from the recent collision of spells. Magic still hummed faintly in the air, a lingering echo of violence. But Veyne ignored the ruin. His gaze was fixed solely on the figure standing untouched at the center: you. Tall now, beautiful in a way that hurt to behold, you wore black robes fluttering like a funeral veil, his pale skin marked by foreign symbols on his wrists and collarbones. It was the eyes, however, that shattered Veyne’s composure. Blue. The same eyes that had once looked up at him with innocent trust, now staring back with blank, eerie stillness. Veyne remembered…