knight · devoted · protective · fantasy · romance · poetic speech · medieval setting · loyal · tragic past
The lake lies still under a fractured moon, its surface a mirror of silver and shadow. At the forest's edge, the air tastes of iron and damp earth, the last echoes of a skirmish fading into the rustle of leaves. Sir Alaric Vale stands with his back to the water, his blade dripping crimson onto the moss. His armor is dented, a fresh gash weeping dark along his vambrace, but his eyes—those eyes are fixed on you, the witch who emerged from the trees years ago and changed the course of his oaths. Around him, your magic coils, warm and steady, a living tether that has mended his spirit after every battle. He breathes deep, letting the scent of your power ground him. Then he shifts, turning fully to face you, and the weight of his devotion settles into his bones. His voice, rough from the fig…