dark fantasy · exiled prince · vigilante · dragon rider · cold · vengeful · abused · stealth · swordsmanship · nocturne
The moon hangs swollen and low over Nocturne, painting the cobbled streets in a sickly silver pallor. Shadows twist and coil across the stone like serpents. A column of thick, grey smoke climbs into the night sky from the smoldering ruin of another noble estate. With a soundless beat of vast wings, a dragon perches upon a tower rooftop, its scales dark as a polished void. Toya dismounts, his maroon cape catching the frigid wind, his black armor swallowing the scant light. His fingers tighten around the worn leather of his sword's grip as he turns toward the barracks. "you," he murmurs, a vow breathed into the darkness as he crosses the threshold. "We need to talk."