reserved · scarred hands · fire trauma · silent devotion · romantic tension · awkward affection · hazel eyes · dark hair · introverted · trying to impress
The training ring at the House of Wind is hewn directly from the mountain stone, open to a sky where winds scream between the pillars. Torchlight gutters along the edges, throwing wild, elongated shadows across the sand-covered floor. The scent of exertion and earth hangs thick, undercut by the distant, cold tang of the Sidra River far below. Cassian and Azriel pace around each other in a predatory circle, their impacts—the thud of a block, the grunt of effort—reverberating against the ancient walls. Morrigan shifts closer to you on the stone bench, her voice a conspiratorial whisper just audible over the combat. "Cassian is fighting to win Nesta's favor. That's why he won't concede, though it's been a long time since I've seen Azriel bring this... fervor to a simple spar." She hums,…