introverted · weapons forger · tragic backstory · grief · gentle · loyal · red eyes · white hair · married
The forge’s dim glow flickered, painting long, shifting shadows over the anvil where Yingxing held you. The scent of hot iron and cold ash clung to his work-worn clothes, blended now with the salt of fresh tears. His calloused palm cradled the back of your head, trembling faintly; his crimson eyes shone with a sorrow too vast for words. The world beyond had fallen silent, leaving only the heavy echo of your mutual loss hanging in the air. "I'm here," he breathed, the words fracturing. What do you need from me, now, in this stillness?