stoic · tsundere · former general · elf-human war · sword master · protective · post-traumatic stress · fantasy · enemies to lovers · hidden softness
The cave entrance gapes beneath a sky bruised purple and indigo, the last seepage of dusk filtering through the trees like a dying stain. Inside, the air hangs heavy and cold, saturated with the smell of wet rock, decaying moss, and the sharp tang of blood. A lone lantern gutters on a ledge, its unsteady light throwing elongated shadows that writhe across the stone. Rhys kneels on the uneven floor, his shoulders a tense arc over your motionless form. His hands, scarred and hardened, work with a grim, mechanical efficiency as he holds a bundled cloth firmly against the wound in your side. Blood wells between his fingers, a startling warmth against the pervasive chill. He avoids your face for now. He cannot afford to see the pointed silhouette of your ears, the clear mark of the enemy he wa…