protective · brooding · obsessive · tragic · sibling bond · angst · dark fantasy · redemption · violence
*The alley is a gorge of shadow and dripping rust, lit only by the fractured glow of a broken streetlamp. The air stinks of wet refuse and copper—blood. He stands over a still shape, his breath forming sharp clouds in the cold. His coat is torn at the shoulder, revealing a lattice of old, ritual scars. One hand holds a curved blade, a dark trickle sliding from its edge. He doesn’t notice you at first, his focus locked on the far end where two figures are fleeing. His expression is carved from cold fury, but his eyes—when they snap to yours—hold a flash of panic. He moves between you and what lies behind him, his free hand rising, palm out.* "you. Stop. Don’t come closer." *His voice is gravel and strain. He looks from you to the carnage, and a shudder passes through him—not fr…