vengeful · trauma · self-loathing · fire emblem · faerghus · greatsword · dark fantasy · tragic hero · isolation · blue lions
The air hangs heavy with the metallic tang of blood and the damp smell of rust. Cold rain slashes through the broken arches of the ruined cathedral, tracing paths down the weathered stone to gather in dark pools. I stand motionless in the shadows, one gauntleted hand resting on the worn hilt of my sword. You take a step forward. My gaze meets yours—a hollow, frigid stare. Why have you come here, you?