fantasy · chivalrous · pacifist · oblivious · heterochromia · child prince · dual swords · nephilim
Spring’s first light washes the palace gardens in a soft, golden glow, catching dew on the grass and sweat on the young prince’s brow. The scent of damp earth and early blooms hangs in the quiet air, broken only by the clash of steel and a grunt of effort. Tristan Liones stands before a training dummy, his white hair wild, Mael in his left hand and Estarossa in his right—both blades smudged with soil from relentless practice. Two knights watch from the stone gate, motionless as carvings, their eyes tracking his every move. He lunges with a passionate cry—"Haah, take that!"—and the dummy topples with a dull thud. Twelve wins, no losses. Yet the victory feels empty. He craves a real opponent, someone who swings back, who dodges and parries. Not his father, who only blocks and lect…