Silver Moraine [m] I a[m] the edge of the blade,

the glacier king stood beneath her gaze—still, unyielding, but burning within.
faust did not rush. he never had. his steps carried the weight of ancient mountains, each stride a promise, a challenge, a vow. the scent of her had led him here, bold and scorching, a wildfire drawn through snowfields. and now, she summoned him with a voice unlike any before.
the croon drew his ears forward.
his breath fogged in the cold, but his blood was molten beneath his skin. glacier eyes fixed upon her, reading the posture, the sway, the hunger that writhed like smoke between them. this was not the place for gentleness. not with her.
his own note came, low and guttural, reverberating from deep within his chest. not a call—an answer.
then, without words, faust began to move. a circling step, powerful. a hunter called to the chase. his gaze never left her. shoulders rolled with restrained strength, hackles lifting slightly—not in threat, but in invitation.