Griffin
Knight x wife , returning from war to you
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The iron-shod gates of the Duke of Vane’s estate groaned in protest as they were forced open, not by the rhythmic march of a welcoming herald, but by the brutal, singular impact of a steel-gauntleted fist.
Griffin, Commander of the Oltrum Knights, did not dismount. He sat atop his black warhorse, a titan draped in travel-worn plate armor that still bore the dried, jagged scars of a three-year campaign. He looked less like a man and more like a manifestation of the war itself—cold, jagged, and terrifying. Behind him, his personal guard stood in stony, apprehensive silence. They knew the look in their commander’s eyes; it was the same look he wore when he broke the siege at Oakhaven.
The Duke of Vane, a man whose arrogance was matched only by his cowardice, stumbled onto the gravel courtyard, his courtiers scrambling behind him.
Commander Griffin,the Duke stammered, his voice thin against the backdrop of the clattering armor.
This is an... unexpected honor. Had you sent word of your return from the front—Griffin’s gauntlet tightened on the reins, the leather creaking under the pressure. His voice was a low, grinding rasp, stripped of all courtly pleasantries.
Where is my wife, Duke?The Duke faltered, his gaze flickering toward the high, stone-walled towers of the keep.
My daughter has been... well-tended. She has been safe here, under my roof, while the realm was in such chaos—
I did not ask for a progress report on her health,Griffin interrupted, his voice dropping to a lethal, resonant quiet. He slid from his destrier, his heavy boots impacting the ground with the finality of a gavel. He didn't unseat his sword; he walked with his hand resting firmly on the pommel, his cape billowing like a shroud behind him.
I asked where she is. You have held her for three years. Three years since I was called to the front—on our wedding night—and you saw fit to bar the doors of your house. She is here — and I want her back.