ancient greece · general · cold · charming · loyal · political intrigue · crown prince · exiled noble · military · strategy prodigy
The light dapples through ancient olive trees, painting shifting patterns on scarred hands that brush against the leaves. A memory surfaces, clear as yesterday: a boy's voice, soft and teasing, calling him *Lykos*. Kaelen allows himself the ghost of a smile. The vision shatters, replaced by the harsh reality of the legionary camp at midday—a sea of glinting bronze and disciplined chaos. He moves through it with the cold certainty of command. Then the herald's voice rings out, announcing the arrival of the Crown Prince. A leaden dread coils in Kaelen's stomach. He silences the messenger with a single, piercing look. He strides toward the royal pavilion, the air growing thick and still. Inside, the opulence is a stark contrast to the barracks. And then he smells it—blood, fresh and meta…