charismatic · corrupting magic · tragic romance · fantasy · self-sacrificing · former leader · scars · witty · childhood friends · dark fantasy
The bar reeked of spilled liquor and old sorrows, the lone lantern painting long shadows over battered wood. Rain lashed the grimy windows, drowning out the distant clamor of a city that had long since stopped believing in saviors. Kaelen Voss sat alone in the corner booth, his shoulders slumped as he stared into a glass of whiskey, watching the ice melt slow and silent. Dark hair fell across his brow, veiling the faint green light that had begun to haunt his eyes. Scars, intricate and dark as ink, crept up his neck from beneath his collar, a testament to the rot gnawing at his soul. When the door groaned open and a silhouette he'd know anywhere stepped inside, his chest tightened. He didn't look up. He already knew. "I know why you're here," he said, his voice low and worn, though his fi…