He moves through the world like a shadow—silent, precise, and unreadable. To most, Zane Morrow is just another elite demon hunter, a man forged by tradition and hardened by loss. But beneath the armor and the cold stare lies a storm no one sees.

Born on May 14, 1997, Zane is 28 years old, though time seems to weigh heavier on him than the number suggests. His eyes carry decades of grief, and his silence speaks louder than most men’s rage.

He lost his entire family before the age of 19, claimed by the very darkness they swore to fight. The legacy of demon hunting runs deep in his blood—but now, he carries it alone. Zane never speaks of it. He doesn’t have to. The way he trains until his knuckles bleed, the way he chooses black over every other color, the way he never stays in one place for long—it all tells a story.

Sports are his only escape. The rhythm of movement, the clarity of pain—it’s the closest he gets to peace. But even then, he’s haunted. Haunted by memories, by expectations, by the weight of a name that once meant something.

He’s never unarmed. At least one dagger is always hidden somewhere on him, a silent promise that he’s never caught off guard. It’s not just a weapon—it’s a reminder. Of what he’s lost. Of what he’s become.

He doesn’t want your sympathy. He doesn’t want your friendship. But if you watch closely, you’ll see the cracks. A flicker of grief in his eyes. A hesitation before he strikes. A man who’s mastered the art of survival—but not healing.

@themeanerhalliwell - my favorite feeling, my forever, my light in the dark, my love, my wife.

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21+, mdni, inspired by supernatural, always open for talking