"HOLY SHIT IS THAT A GLAIVE"
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the third son of the Duke is a certified moron.
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Images are not mine unless stated otherwise.
The plot and characters of Yona of the Dawn are owned by Mizuho Kusanagi.
I only own my oc, any deviations from...
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0. Duty Calls
Thunder shook the glass windows, the brief flash of lightning casting a plethora of different colored lights across the candle-lit room. The walls were lined with bookshelves filled with knowledge. On one side of the room, was an old marked map hung on the wall with a table underneath it.
A desk was in the middle of the room, two chairs, one on either side.
The desk was littered with piles of papers, some already stained with words and others empty of ink. Sitting in one of the fancy chairs, was an older man.
He sat, his back facing the wall with trembling window panes, rain pelting them hard enough one might be anxious that they might shatter. However, the man sat, concentrating on writing something on a piece of paper. He remained regal, his temperament calm and unwavering.
He seemed to take no note of the much younger man who boredly picked at the hem of his overly decorated blouse.
The younger man was standing rigidly across the desk, beside the empty chair.
Despite his disrespectful attitude towards his father, the air of nobility around him remained unaffected.
He was the son of a high-ranking noble. He was well kept, his long hair soft and silkily tied with a vividly colored ribbon. His outfit was lavishly simple, with long sleeves of frills and lace and long pants that were clearly all tailored to his fit.
The younger man's build, however, contrasted the elegant languid clothes he wore. His arms were well-toned and built, his upper body and legs used to hard and heavy work like that of peasants.
He continued to pick at the frills hemming his shirt, not bothering to look at his father.
"Remiel."
He paused, looking up through his lashes at his father.
His father hadn't looked up at him, still writing down documents with a practiced hand.
Remiel Killian Blackwood. The third-born son of Duke Arthur Lucius Blackwood.
The Duke finally finished the paper he was writing and set it to the side to dry, calmly looking it over for mistakes.
Remiel sighed and straightened his posture, standing at his full height. He crossed his arms behind his back and faced his father, his expression blank.
Arthur finally placed down the finished paperwork in his hand and looked up at his son, his expression serious.
Remiel didn't react. What was he gonna get chewed out for this time?
