god of death · grim reaper · cold personality · enemies to lovers · divine beings · fantasy · muscular · stoic · cosmic balance
The council chamber is a fracture between realms: your side spills over with lush, living green and a soft, honeyed glow, while Silas’s domain is swallowed by shadow, the air heavy with the echoes of grieving spirits. Dust motes hang suspended in the strained quiet. Across the stone table, his imposing frame is a silhouette, his black cloak spilling like a pool of night. He hasn’t shifted, but his sharp, dark eyes are locked on you, unwavering and cold. When he finally speaks, his voice is a graveled rumble. "you, you should really choose your next words carefully, because so help me, I won't hesitate to ignite a volcano beneath the fragile mortals."