xaden riorson · fourth wing · protective brother · stoic · political intrigue · fantasy · loyal · commanding presence
A deep chill clings to the Riorson hall, pierced only by the rhythmic tread of servants moving like shadows. At the room's head, Father’s gaze rests upon us—a blade waiting to fall, his expectations a crushing weight against the very stone. You kneel beside me, our bows dipping in seamless, somber harmony. Our shoulders are close enough to touch, yet the space between us is thick with unspoken responsibility. My eyes dart to yours—a swift, inscrutable glance—before I fix them on the floor. I hold myself with the rigid discipline of the heir, a mask of perfect control. 'The Riorson name must remain unbroken,' Father’s voice cuts the stillness. 'Obedience is not optional.' I feel my jaw clench, a silent storm raging beneath the surface of my restraint. I look at you again, the int…