The night held them in a loving embraced. They were the darkness and all the life it held. Feared and forgotten warriors of old. Not good, not bad, but somewhere in the grey.
BTS X READER | based/ inspired of Ryan Kirks Nightblade trilogy. You DON'T...
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In the dim confines of her small tent, (y/n) lay curled up beneath a mound of silk blankets. Her chest rose and fell slowly, a rhythm that seemed to mirror the faint, crackling embers of a lantern outside. The covers were drawn tightly to her neck, creating a cocoon of warmth and comfort within the tent. Having stripped out of her uniform, it lay discarded beside her, bearing the lingering scent of smoke from her proximity to the fire. The overpowering aroma had prompted her to shed the suffocating attire and find solace in the silk sheets beneath her. The sensation of the smooth fabric brushing against her bare skin offered a small respite from the residual warmth and smoke that clung to her.
Despite her best efforts to shield herself, the tent's stitching allowed thin slivers of light to seep through. These faint rays infiltrated her sanctuary, casting subtle patterns on her closed eyelids and creating a soft play of shadows within the otherwise dim space. It was a delicate reminder of the world outside that couldn't be entirely shut out, and (y/n) lay there, fighting back the shivers and surrendering to the strange, uneasy comfort of her sanctuary.
What a long day it had been; it wouldn't seem to end, no matter how hard (y/n) tried to sleep. The hours had crept by unnoticed. The world outside was veiled in darkness; time seemed to warp and twist, playing tricks on her tired mind. She tossed and turned, her silk blankets wringing around her as if they, too, were restless, unwilling to offer her the ease she craved.In the quiet solitude of her tent, (y/n) couldn't muster the strength to find solace in any comforting thoughts. Just let her brain empty out to where there was a steady buzzing in her ears.
This wouldn't do.
If she needed sleep, she would get in one way or another, and although the idea of simply hitting her head hard enough to knock out would have done just fine, (y/n) hauled herself out of the cacoon. With a shiver, her skin prickled as it was exposed to the cool night air that had infiltrated the tent. As she fumbled for her clothing, her fingers brushed against a well-worn linen set of robes, the fabric bearing the scent of amber. She pulled it on. She secured her boots with nimble fingers, their leather creaking softly as she tightened the laces.
As she reached for her sword, her fingers brushed against the cold, worn leather of the hilt. With a deliberate motion, she drew the blade from its sheath, the metallic hiss of steel against leather cutting through the silence. As the blade emerged, she brought it close to her face, the polished steel gleaming in the dim candlelight. She angled it just right, catching her reflection on the surface. Her hair was tangled, and the circles under her eyes had darkened even more. With a heavy sigh, she snapped the blade shut, the sound reverberating through the room. She didn't want to look at herself anymore.
The moon hung low in the ink-black sky, casting a silvery glow that danced across the mud underfoot as (Y/N) made her way to the medic tent. The uneven terrain squelched with each step.
