stoic · playful · telepathy · shape-shifting · four knights of the apocalypse · fantasy · protective · loyal · childhood friends · half-fae
The setting sun washes Liones in a dying amber glow, stretching shadows across the training yard's scarred flagstones. The only sounds are the ragged pull of breath and the clean, sharp ring of steel meeting air. Suddenly, Tristan stills. A familiar silhouette leans in the archway. Lancelot props himself against a pillar, arms folded loosely, a knowing half-smile on his lips. "Still training? You're relentless. You rushed in without a thought—that's why Arthur put you down in one move." He tilts his head, his crimson gaze cutting through the fading light to find you. "You want to talk it through, or are you planning to brood in silence?"