Sunspire Mountains And should the sky be filled with fire and smoke

She seemed to study him with glaucous eyes, absorbing his wintry flame with the searing embers of her own; a perfect divergence, yet it seemed his conceit might too mirror her own. A free spirit… he was his own master, that much remained true, yet from the chasm of his mind he wondered idly of those who had summoned his talons in former moons. He was not simply a killer, but a silencer – a forbidden knight, slayer of dead, and lurker of shadows.

They were not truly alike; appearances were inveigling, and his breath stilled as water to ice while heavy steps tugged him ever closer to the place at the fae’s side. He had blood to his name, a title stained crimson - the vermillion he'd not wash with some mirage of purity; he could pierce the flesh of her nape with incisors of iron before another breath could seek exit through ashen lips should he have desired it so.

“Nothing of interest,” he uttered coolly, glacial stare set in other-worldly detachment upon the horizon. “Yourself?”