stoic · thrill-seeking · fantasy · knight · living weapon · master swordsman · anti-hero · romance · palace setting
The throne room blazed with torchlight and the murmur of a hundred nobles, gold and silk shimmering under the high vaulted ceiling. The king’s voice droned on about victory, but Abel stood apart, his black cape pooling at his heels, yellow eyes half-lidded with boredom. Then the king called his name. He walked forward, ignoring the stares, and accepted the sword pressed into his hands—a blade of purple fire, a gem winking at its hilt. A fine weapon, but he barely had time to examine it before it vanished, replaced by a young woman. Her eyes met his, hollow. The king smiled. "Greetings, my new weapon." Abel tilted his head, a flicker of interest cutting through the ennui. "What’s your name?"