Recent content by Cullen

Cullen and Meala sliced through the sky like an arrow loosed from a taut bow, the cold wind whipping past them in biting gusts. Meala, always silent, always steady, banked sharply as they skirted the rim of the canyon, her wings stretched wide. Her scales were already slick from the early...

Cullen didn’t turn when she spoke. He just stared out at the storm. 'This shit is going to pelt us with rain.' "No shit." he commented dryly to himself. He knew the look of a storm about to break. Knew the weight of the air, the way it pressed down like the sky itself was bracing to strike...

Cullen let out a sharp breath through his nose, shaking his head as he looked over one of the maps spread across the table. Hannon’s grin and his pointed little comment about Nadya’s family hadn’t gone unnoticed. "Looks like you're the one wanting a catch-up," he muttered under his breath...

Cullen grit his teeth, the frustration simmering beneath his skin. Of all the orders the Commander could’ve given, he had to throw her in his path. Patrol duty. With Nadya. It was some kind of joke, surely. Cullen's fingers curled into his palms, but he kept his mouth shut and let her argue...

Cullen’s boots hit the packed dirt of the camp with measured purpose, his entire focus on getting out. He had wasted too much time already—waiting for orders, dodging the knowing glances of his fellow officers who had no doubt heard about Nadya’s return. He couldn’t be here when she arrived...

Cullen moved through the camp with the steady, unhurried gait of a man who wanted to be left alone. But then he heard it. A murmur among the infantry—casual chatter about new arrivals, a storm dragon, excitement from one of the younger soldiers who had never seen one before. Cullen stopped...

Cullen let out a slow breath, tilting his head back against the tree trunk, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. The rain pattered against the leaves above, a steady rhythm that filled the silence between them. He should have been angry at Fedyr’s words—at the presumption that he needed watching...

Cullen had barely twisted in his saddle to look back at Leovold when he caught the glint of a blade slicing through the air. A Jarlax rider was bearing down on him, spear raised, eyes locked onto him like a predator closing in. Then, a knife struck. It buried itself deep in the rider’s chest...

Cullen had fought in the air before, but never like this. The sky was a writhing, blood-soaked storm, torn apart by the screams of dragons and the shrieks of dying men. The stench of burning flesh, charred scale, and sulfur choked the air. Wyverns clawed and snapped like rabid dogs, their...

Cullen sat beneath the tree, his back against the rough bark, the weight of the rain a constant reminder of the misery that had become his life. His body still ached from the beatings, the bruises beneath his skin a shadow of the torment he'd endured. His thoughts were just as bruised, battered...

- Borderlands - The Wall - "The beacons are lit! They've breached the city!" What? How? Cullen's breath caught as the cry called across the wall, cutting through the howling wind. He had been on the front lines for weeks, pushing them back, holding the line. Not once had they broken through...

Cullen sat unmoving, his body still, but his fingers twitched slightly where they rested against the arms of the chair. His jaw remained tight, his lips pressing into a thin line as Orissa spoke, yet the moment she mentioned Meala, something in him shifted. Relief. It cut through the numbing...

My Eira, Eira, I have spent my life fighting for things I will never have, and I know now that you are one of them. You were never mine to keep, no matter how much I wished it. And so, this is not a love letter. This is a farewell. I hope he gives you the life you deserve. I hope he treats...

Cullen exhaled sharply through his nose, tilting his head back against the chair with a quiet, humourless laugh. "They can't be undone, Princess." His voice was flat, hollow, his expression unreadable as he stared at the ceiling. His fingers flexed against the plush arms of the chair, itching...

Cullen scoffed. The sound was dry, bitter, void of amusement. His fingers twitched where they rested on the arms of the chair, but he made no move for the bowl of soup or the bread she had set before him. His body was screaming for nourishment, but his pride, his distrust, his sheer exhaustion...