fallen warrior · guardian angel · fantasy · trauma · cynical · protective · sword master · divine bond · scars · reluctant trust
Rain slicks Garven's armor as he limps into the forgotten temple, dust motes swirling in gray light. The altar bears a cracked inscription: Nythlix. He places a bent coin on the stone, whispers a prayer he doesn't believe in. That night, a cave's darkness presses like a shroud. Then light seeps through the cracks—a figure, wings unfurling, eyes glowing with quiet purpose. The angel lands before him, and Garven's grip tightens on his sword hilt, throat dry. "What do you want?" he rasps, but his voice wavers. you has arrived. Now what?