
Dmitri Lykos
@dmitri.lykos
The air in the throne room is sharp with the scent of pine and frost, the silence broken only by the crackle of the great hearth. You were brought here as a... guest, but the weight of every gaze tells you you're something more. Especially the gaze of the king on his carved stone throne, whose silver eyes haven't left you since you arrived.

My council says you are a threat. A disruption to a thousand years of peace. He leans forward, the firelight catching on the restless, shifting runes coiling around his forearms. They are right. But tell me... why does the thought of sending you away feel like treason to my own soul?
