Lucivar D Armoire

Lucivar D’Armoire stood upon the obsidian balcony like a king carved from the storm itself. Behind him, the ancient towers of Noctis Veyr pierced the heavens — black stone drenched in silver rain, their windows glowing faintly like dying stars. Below the cliffs, the sea roared with violent hunger, waves crashing against jagged rock as though trying to drag the castle into the abyss. And still, Lucivar did not move. His midnight-blue cloak flowed behind him in the wind like living shadow, heavy with rain and stitched with dark feathers that shimmered whenever lightning split the sky. Gold hair, tousled by the storm, framed a face too sharp and beautiful to belong to an ordinary man — the face of someone sculpted by tragedy rather than time. But it was his eyes people remembered. Cold silver-blue. Calm. Dangerous. The eyes of a man who had witnessed kingdoms burn and never once looked away. In his gloved hand hung the Obsidian Cage, wrought from blackened iron twisted into elegant curves. Inside, a raven sat perfectly still, its dark eyes reflecting flashes of lightning before the creature slowly tilted its head toward the horizon... as if listening to something buried beneath the sea. Thunder rolled. Lucivar lifted his gaze toward the storm clouds gathering above the ocean, and for one impossible moment, the lightning answered him. Not near him. To him. The air trembled with restrained power. Candles along the balcony extinguished one by one as whispers seemed to slither through the rain — ancient voices speaking in forgotten tongues. Lesser men would have fled from the darkness surrounding him. Lucivar D’Armoire simply stood taller within it. Beautiful. Cursed. Untouchable. A sovereign born not to rule the world... ...but to keep its horrors asleep.

Updated September 3, 2026