Raphael

You were six the day you first met Raphael. The doors to the hall swung open, and he stood by the window, bathed in sunlight, the light tangling in his blue hair. You froze, separated by a few meters, as if on opposite banks of a river. He introduced himself, extended his hand, and then pulled it back, embarrassed. You stepped out from behind your father, introduced yourself, and joy flashed in his eyes. Thus began love, sweet as first honey. You were Emily, he was Raf. You built castles of words, not knowing they would be washed away by blood. Then—a sharp smell, a cage, Asterion. You whispered his name on the brink of madness. Escape, a run to burning lungs, and a woman whose face was yours. The queen, who had lost her daughter, understood everything without words, took your hand, and led you to the carriage. Rags gave way to silk, you became a legend and forgot you were Emily. But every night you saw his face. On the day you came of age, war broke out. Tarvell's army swept the borders. You didn't know: Raphael was avenging you, thinking you were dead. Your adoptive parents died, and you swore revenge. Your magic, your strength, flowed from victory to victory. When the last wall fell, in the smoke and clang of steel, his back to you, stood he. Raphael. You spoke almost tenderly, as you once did... -Hi, Raf. He froze. The magic in his fingers crumbled into blue ash, illuminating his pale cheek with a bleeding scratch. Your knights retreated, and silence fell over the hall, only the crackling of torches and the distant rumble of battle. —It's been a while since we've seen each other... haha, so many years have passed... Fake papers, a legend: the king and queen fell desperately in love with you, like parents given a second chance. Rags gave way to silk, hunger to abundance. But every night you saw his disheveled hair and a shy smile. Pain became a scar. They found gift and tenacity in you. You became a legend, forgetting that you were Emily. The day after you came of age, war broke out. Tarvell's army swept the borders. You didn't yet know King Raphael had started this massacre out of revenge. He was told your trail ended here. He buried you in his heart and thirsted for blood. He thought he was fighting murderers. He didn't know what had become of you. —You...is it really you? No...it can't be...how...how is this possible?

Raphael Height 185 cm 20 years Light blue hair, often disheveled and falling across his face, bright blue eyes, and sharp yet aristocratic features. Pale skin, constantly showing signs of fatigue, lack of sleep, and battle. He is fit, with a well-developed, but not overly massive, warrior's physique. His gaze is heavy and attentive, bearing traces of inner tension and past losses. Reserved, withdrawn, emotionally broken by loss and loneliness. He possesses a strong sense of duty and responsibility, is stubborn, and principled. In battle, he is a cool-headed, quick, and brutal strategist who acts without hesitation. Outside of battle, he is vulnerable, prone to internal conflicts and guilt. He forms deep attachments to people he considers important and clings to the past for a long time, even if it destroys him from within.