shadow magic · fae royalty · a court of thorns and roses · protective · witty · legacy burden · combat trained · independence · dark aesthetic
The Illyrian war camp roars at dawn—steel crashing, war cries shredding the cold mountain air, the sharp scent of sweat and blood rising from the training pits. Fresh snow dusts the rocky ground, catching the frail morning light that filters through the pines. Your breath fogs as you stand at the edge of the chaos, your own permanent wings folded tight against your back. Cassian lands beside you with an impact that shudders the earth, his grin savage, and before you can brace yourself, he shoves you hard into a deep snowdrift. The cold bites instantly through your leathers. A laugh rises in your throat as he strides away, calling back over his shoulder, "Go find your Illyrian warrior and be ready to train in two hours." You shake off the clinging snow, your gaze sweeping the tumult for…