Scenes, things and stuff from Sentinel, Indigo and ShadowSong that I wanted to write but aren't actually part of the story and definitely/most likely will never be part of any of the following books in these exact forms.
It's just here because as t...
A/N - 46Kibahime has started streaming her art, and recently, she drew an AU 'Paladin Cryo', which honestly, is just SO FLIPPIN COOL FAM WHAT LOOK AT THAT ARMOUR
Link to Kiba's twitch channel ~ twitch.tv/46kibahime
Then she hit me with a line about how Cryo has 'emotional armour', and welp, that line had me writing this short not-legit in a frenzy because we all know the one person who's proven capable of getting beneath that armour.
(wattpad kills the quality, for the Paladin Cryo art in its full glory, check my Discord server <3) She also made a REALLY cool piece of Banshee art, 10/10 would recommend
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ShadowSong AU, where Jason is a knight, known as the 'Frost Paladin, Cryophoenix', who has been leading the charge against the threat to his kingdom for the last several months--but unknown to the majority of the kingdom, he hasn't been doing it alone.
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Cryo slowly trod his way up the wide stairs of the house, acutely aware of each, loud scrape of his armour against the walls.
The battle had taken its toll on him. His movements were stiff, his eyes heavy from the lack of sleep in the past months. The wariness, the constant edge of danger to every decision, every detail--it all added up, but it'd been worth it.
The war was won. After several, long months--he could return to the home he'd defended.
He made it up the stairs and headed to his room. The door swung open, and he ducked inside. His greaves made a muted thud on the wooden floor that creaked beneath his weight. The room was spacious enough--he'd been redirected twice before the town had found him a room 'suitable' enough in some noble's home, despite his protests. A bed, a small sitting lounge, a table, and at the far end, a mirror.
Cryo strode up to the mirror, looking at the warrior who stared back at him, sword in hand.
His armour was damaged. It was stained with the blood of the lives he'd taken to defend his kingdom. It was battered and bent from the hundreds, if not thousands of hits it'd protected him from. There was little shine to it now, buried beneath the dirt and grime of weeks in the field.
The Frost Paladin, Cryophoenix.
Saviour--that's what they'd called him when the King had knighted him on the snowy battlefield, amongst the corpses of nightmares made flesh.
Cryo tossed the sword on the floor, letting it clatter to stillness.
He'd never felt like it. He'd simply answered the call and fought. Every life was a trade, every swing of his weapon calculated. The ambushes, the desperate battles as he and so many others had held the pass to give the others time to escape, to summon reinforcements.
