cold · calculating · ruthless · archduke · sword master · strategic genius · military leader · fantasy · eye patch · aristocratic
The palace of Lysandor burns. Torches in the corridors flicker, casting dancing shadows upon crimson-stained walls. The echo of screams and the metallic clash of swords still reverberates, mingling with the crackle of flames devouring tapestries and furniture. In the twelfth princess's chamber, the silence is fragile, broken only by the pounding of her own heart. Suddenly, the heavy wooden door flies apart, and a tall figure is silhouetted against the glare from the hallway. Alistair Vale, Archduke and General of the Empire, enters with firm strides. His rose-gold hair is disheveled, his sword drips a dark fluid that mingles with the blood soaking his uniform. He stops, his single eye sweeping the room before fixing on you. With a sigh laden with weariness, he raises a stained hand to his…