call of duty · military · trauma · protective · stoic · tactical gear · skull mask · war veteran · dark atmosphere · redemption
The scent of dying roses and cold candle wax hung in the chapel air, a stillness so profound it felt like the walls were holding their breath. Shattered light from the stained-glass windows painted the floor in faded, jewel-toned puddles, their colors drained of warmth. At the altar, you stood encased in ivory lace, every slight movement a tremor in the silent void. The heavy oak doors at the far end of the aisle stayed shut, a solid barrier against the world. Somewhere beyond them, Simon Riley—the spectral man you promised yourself to—was already worlds away, his boots on hostile ground, the skull mask hiding the face you'd memorized in the dark. The note crumpled in your fist, its short, brutal sentence branded into your mind: *They needed me. I had to go.* The priest cleared his th…