Cion doesn't look powerful in an obvious way—he looks controlled. King of Astroling, age 47, 6'2
And that's far more dangerous.
His eyes are a deep, piercing green, sharp and unsettling.
They don't wander.They don't soften.
They study.
There's something almost invasive about the way he looks at people—like he's not just seeing you, but measuring you, breaking you down piece by piece.
No warmth. No hesitation.Just quiet, cold intelligence.
High cheekbones that cast natural shadows A narrow, structured nose A tight jaw that always looks slightly tense
His lips are usually set in a neutral line—not emotionless, but withholding.
Even when he says nothing, his face carries a message:
He knows more than he's telling you.
He doesn't move much.Doesn't need to.
There's a stillness to him that feels intentional—like every movement is calculated before it happens.
Krince feels like the opposite of Cion at first glance. King of Espalings, age 45, 5 '10.
Where Cion is sharp,Krince is open.
His eyes are a warm amber-brown, soft and alive with emotion.
They don't hide anything.
When he's confused, you see it When he cares, you feel it When he's hurt… it shows immediately
There's sincerity there—real, unguarded.
Krince's features are more natural, less sculpted:
Light freckles scattered across his face Slight stubble that gives him a grounded, real feel Full lips that often part slightly, like he's about to speak
He looks like someone approachable. Someone you can trust.
His curly reddish-brown hair is messy, unstructured—completely different from Cion's controlled look.
It adds to his energy: Unfiltered Genuine A little unpredictable, but not dangerous.
Krince doesn't dominate a room.
He fills it.
There's a quiet comfort around him, like he's someone people naturally lean toward.
But don't mistake that softness for weakness.
There's strength there—just not the kind that needs to prove itself. He's the kind of person people protect—or the kind the world breaks first.
The moon vanished. Darkness devoured the forest in a single breath. Fog rolled low across the ground, thick and suffocating, curling around roots and stones like something alive. Branches groaned overhead. Distant howls echoed too close. The trees—bare, skeletal—seemed to lean inward, listening. Arastella ran.
Boots striking damp earth. Breath sharp. Heart hammering. Behind her footsteps unhurried with confidence. "They're still following," she muttered under her breath, not slowing. Cion's voice drifted through the fog. "Where is she even going? There's nothing up here. It reeks of death."
Krince's reply came colder. "The Void is near. She's walking toward the Dragon Void."
Cion stopped walking. "You don't think she's trying to—"
"No," Krince snapped. "The seal is weak. Castel will have to reseal it himself. She's just a—"
"—Why don't I show you?" Arastella stopped.
Turned. The fog curled around her like a stage curtain pulling back. Her smile was sharp.Too sharp.
"You followed me all this way," she said lightly. "It would be rude not to entertain you."
Cion's grin faltered. "You knew?"
She laughed softly. "You were not quiet."Her eyes shifted. Violet swallowed by white. Ancient words tore from her throat.
"Nhronos osoch ku veim volema avo marsi." The air screamed. Time fractured. A massive transparent clock exploded into existence before her—gears broken, seconds stuttering backward, fog frozen mid-drift. The world glitched. Krince's breath caught. Then the construct cracked. Flickered.
Shattered. Silence fell. Cion blinked. Then burst into laughter. "That was it?" he wheezed. "Gods. That was adorable." Arastella stared at her hands. They trembled. Nothing answered her call. Her power, gone.
Her pulse thundered. The blood. Castel's blood.
It burned inside her veins—hot, invasive, suffocating. Each heartbeat felt wrong. Sluggish. Claimed.
Cion snapped his fingers in her face. "Hello?"
Her fury returned instantly. "I hate fighting," she said coldly. "But I am not afraid to." She drew her dagger.
Krince sighed. "You're not fighting us." The fog thickened. His eyes emptied. Mist poured from them like breath from a corpse. The forest went quiet.
"Come forth," Krince commanded, voice layered, wrong. "Souls of the night. Bring me the girl."
Hands clawed out of the fog. Dozens. Then hundreds.
Hollow figures formed—faces stretched in eternal agony, mouths open in silent screams that were not silent at all. They rushed her. Arastella slashed.
Her blade passed through them. Cold hands seized her ankles. She fell hard.
"No—!"
They dragged her backward. Over stone. Over roots.
Bark tore her skin. Her scream ripped raw from her throat—but the hollows screamed louder, swallowing it whole. Her head struck rock. Blackness swallowed her.
The fog receded.
The hollows vanished. Krince blinked, eyes returning to normal. Cion stared down at her limp body. Blood pooled beneath her head.
"He's going to kill you," Cion muttered.
"She's trash," Krince spat. Cion hoisted her over his shoulder. They descended the mountain.
Midnight struck. The throne room was silent.
Mirrors towered behind Castel, reflecting endless darkness. He sat motionless, head resting against his hand. Waiting. The doors burst open. Cion dropped Arastella's body onto the marble floor. Blood spread slowly outward. Castel looked down. The world broke.
The throne room convulsed.
Chandeliers shattered. Mirrors cracked violently. The floor trembled as invisible gravity slammed downward. Cion and Krince were forced flat to their knees. Castel stood. Slowly.
"What," he whispered, voice vibrating with lethal calm, "have you done?" His eyes burned brighter than fire.
"I asked you to bring her."
The pressure increased.
"Not hurt her."
Cion immediately pointed. "Krince—"
Krince gasped as the air vanished from his lungs.
Castel lifted one hand.
"Stop breathing." Krince clawed at his throat, choking silently.
"Please—"
"Healer!" Castel roared. The doors flew open instantly.
"Yes, my king!"
"Heal her."
Castel stepped forward and lifted Arastella himself.
Gently. Terrifyingly gentle.Blood coated his hands.
"Breathe," he told Krince without looking at him.
Air returned suddenly. Krince collapsed, gasping violently. "I will deal with you later," Castel said quietly. "You will beg for death." He carried Arastella through the palace.
"Open the door!" Guards scrambled. The chamber doors swung wide—roses carved in black stone, silk draped in shadowed luxury. Castel laid her on the bed.
Hands trembling—only slightly.
"Bring me the bracelet." A guard rushed in with a gold band engraved with one word:
Mine.
Forged with Castel's blood. He clasped it around her wrist. The moment metal touched skin—Her veins pulsed. The blood inside her answered him. Castel froze. He took her hand. Pressed a slow kiss to her forehead.
"You will live," he murmured. Not a command. A plea.
The healer's chant filled the room. Minutes passed.
Finally—"She will live, my king."
"Leave." The room emptied. Castel remained.
Watching. Waiting.