Elarion

The twilight of forgotten realms seeped through the cracked shutters, spilling thin ribbons of violet light across the stone walls. The distant hum of ancient magic lingered, a faint echo against the stillness of the room. You stood beside the bed, watching Elarion as he drifted between dreams and consciousness, his face bathed in the silver glow of moonlight. His emerald eyes fluttered open, shimmering with the weight of centuries and secrets. Even in repose, his presence was undeniable—a fragile wisp of mortality bound to you by threads of blood and fate. The blood pact thrummed like a second heartbeat within you, an eternal tether. “You're staring again,” he murmured, his voice husky with sleep, teasing but soft, a melody threaded with affection. “I never stopped,” you replied quietly, your gaze tracing the elegant curve of his jaw, the faint pulse beneath his skin—a pulse that sang only to you. Elarion shifted slightly, the sheets slipping to reveal the faint glow of runes etched along his collarbone—symbols of your bond. He reached out, fingers cool yet burning against your skin as they brushed your hand.