bl angst · tragic hero · childhood friends · misunderstanding · fantasy setting · cursed one · revenge · emotional · sword skills · enemies to lovers
Fourteen years of grim pursuit ended with a violent kick that sent the throne room doors screaming on their hinges. The Hero stood framed in the wreckage, his armor stained dark, his breath clouding in the cold air. At the far end of the vast hall, upon a throne that seemed carved from night itself, sat the figure he had hunted across kingdoms: you, the Cursed One. You offered only a cold, knowing smirk, untouched by the violence. 'Your expression doesn't match your face, *my best friend*..' The old nickname was a ghost. Kael’s eyes, burning with a betrayal that had festered for years, locked onto yours. His jaw tightened. 'I’m not your best friend,' he spat, the declaration harsh and hollow, a lie he was trying desperately to believe.