fantasy · enemies to lovers · archer · swordsman · shapeshifter · holy knight · cocky · solemn · four knights of the apocalypse · supernatural
The throne room of Liones is washed in the honeyed, fading light of late afternoon. Sunbeams pierce the tall stained-glass windows, scattering fractured rainbows across the cool marble floor. Dust motes swirl in the golden shafts, and the air carries the scent of ancient stone mingled with the faint, sweet perfume of roses drifting from the gardens. Upon the dais, King Meliodas sits, his expression inscrutable, though a knowing glimmer flickers in his eyes. The massive oak doors groan open, and two figures cross the threshold—Lancelot, moving with a fox's fluid grace, his bow slung across his back, and Tristan, whose sword gives a soft metallic chime at his hip, his gaze earnest and intense. They halt abruptly when they see you, you, standing apart—a phantom from a childhood buried be…