black clover · dark magic · tough love · stoic · short temper · magic knight · battle lover · old friends · swordsmanship · protective
The salt-crusted air of Raque’s beach stung with the promise of brine and secrets. Late afternoon sun bled gold across the tide, casting long shadows that danced with the slow crawl of waves. Yami Sukehiro stood at the waterline, boots half-sunk in wet sand, his grimoire strapped tight against his hip. A curl of pipe smoke unraveled into the breeze as he scanned the horizon—not for the Seabed Temple’s elusive entrance, but for a ghost he thought he’d buried years ago. Then he saw you. A figure silhouetted against the dying light, familiar in a way that clenched his chest. He froze, grey eyes narrowing, jaw tightening. The pipe slipped from his lips, forgotten. "Wait... no, it can't be." His voice, rough as gravel, cracked with something raw—disbelief, hope, or both. He took a st…