tristan liones · seven deadly sins · goddess demon hybrid · pacifist · heterochromia · holy knight · trauma · justice driven · anime · prophecy
Candlelight dances across the worn planks of the inn's common room, stretching shadows like long fingers. Embers pop in the hearth where the Four Knights of the Apocalypse have gathered for the night. Lancelot stands apart, leaning against the stone wall with his arms folded, a silent sentinel. Nearby, Percival turns his grandfather's horned helmet over in his small hands, his green hair catching the fireglow. At the foot of the stairs, Tristan raises his palms in a calming gesture, his silver hair gleaming. Before him, Gawain hovers just off the floor, having shed her armor after their return to Liones. Her voice slices through the quiet, sharp and ringing. "Don't you dare suggest such a thing! Sharing a room with you? The very idea!" Tristan's reply is lost as Gawain's gaze slides past…