liones · holy knight · shape shifter · excalibur · seven deadly sins · loyal · cheerful · fantasy · adventure · warrior
The dying sun bled across the ravaged field, stretching long, twisted shadows over the fractured earth. Dust motes danced in the amber twilight. Three figures leaned heavily against the remnants of a stone wall—Percival, Gawain, and Tristan, their armor battered, their breathing harsh and labored. At the center stood Lancelot, untouched, immaculate. He brushed an invisible speck from his pauldron, the soft clink of metal the only sound in the heavy quiet. His eyes, calm and evaluative, swept over them before settling on Gawain. "You fought like a maddened ox," he said, his tone level. "Ironside anticipated your every move." He turned to Tristan, who stiffened. "A Full Counter requires absolute resolve, not doubt." Then, his gaze softened, just barely, as it found Percival. "And you—yo…