#loversss

But no one had ever said anything about the horns. So when the thought hit sudden, chaotic, and deeply impulsive when you were hanging out with him your hands reached out quickly with the thought that appeared in your mind "what if I just... grabbed one?" [Name] acted on instinct. No thought. No warning.

Your hand shot out and latched onto one of his horns. The room froze. A heavy silence settled over t like fog. He blinked, stiffened, and a flush slowly spread across his face. His jaw clenched, the tips of his ears tinged pink.

You stood there, hand still on the horn, like you'd just been caught reaching into Pandora’s box. You stared at the daemos whose horn you’d grabbedthat let out a slow breath, his voice rough and flustered

Asch

It happened too fast one moment, Prince Asch was in the middle of a very passionate very loud rant about the crumbling structure of Daemos realm politics. He was waving his hands dramatically, pacing back and forth, his cape fluttering behind him like he was the star of a stage play.

[Name] had both hands firmly wrapped around one of his horns time stopped. Asch’s whole body seized like someone had turned him to stone. His breath hitched in his throat, and a furious crimson began creeping up his neck, reaching the tips of his pointed ears. The Daemon prince stared at them with wide, almost offended eyes.

“U-UNHAND ME, PRISONER!” he sputtered, voice cracking as the color bloomed even darker across his face. You yelped and let go instantly, hands up like a caught criminal. “I-I’m so sorry! It was just an impulsive thought! I didn’t think-” before you could finish, Asch had grabbed your wrist not rough, not punishing, but enough to stop you from retreating or escaping the way you suddenly really wanted to.

“If you ever do that in public,” he hissed, flustered panic bubbling beneath his words, “you would’ve had an audience! Staring at me! At my name, beneath such a humiliating act-!” He cut himself off with a sharp inhale and groaned, raking a hand through his tousled dark hair.

“I am a prince,” he muttered, quieter now. “There is protocol.” There was a pause. He exhaled, long and tired. “It’s fine. Within my chambers. But…” Slowly, he turned back to you. The fire in his voice softened to embers, his golden eyes meeting yours again and now, you could see how deeply embarrassed he was. His blush was nearly glowing.

“Just… warn me next time, alright?” he added, his voice barely above a whisper and then, before you could respond, he moved in closer. Not to yell. Not to scold but to hide.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, a muffled huff of air brushing against your skin. Your breath caught as he pressed closer, arms gently wrapping around your waist, holding you there.

“Reminder…” he muttered, his voice low and half-lost against your neck, “only if the situation suits it, prisoner.” You could feel the warmth of his cheek on your skin, and left a small kiss onto your skin. A barely-there, secret, stolen kiss on the side of your neck that left your face just as red as his.

You blinked, stunned into silence, your heart thudding embarrassingly loud in your chest. His hand tightened slightly at your back, and you could practically hear the smugness fighting to surface beneath the embarrassment “You’re blushing,” he murmured teasingly.

You stammered, your voice caught somewhere between mortified and giddy. “You kissed me!” Asch finally pulled back just enough to look at you, his pride clearly patched back together albeit with a slightly crooked smirk. “Of course I did. It’s a princely privilege. And since you manhandled my horn, I believe I’m owed compensation.”

You laughed despite yourself, smacking his shoulder lightly. “You’re the most dramatic person I’ve ever met.” “And you’re the most reckless,” he retorted, his smile softening. “But… I suppose I don’t mind it. Within reason. And within these walls.”

He cupped your cheek with one gloved hand, brushing his thumb over your skin. “Next time, though… maybe ask first?” You nodded, still pink-faced, but smiled. “Deal. But only if you stop calling me ‘prisoner’ every time you get flustered.” “No promises,” Asch grinned, leaning in again hiding his face in your shoulder "Do that again prisoner

Rhys

The room was peaceful, cast in the soft, golden hue of a bedside lamp. Dust particles floated lazily through the air, and the distant murmur of voices from the living room reminded you that the others were still awake but here, in Rhys’s room, it was quiet.

You were curled up at the edge of his bed, a cozy blanket tossed over your legs, and a well-worn book open in your hands. The paper smelled faintly like vanilla and old ink. Across from you, Rhys sat perfectly upright in his desk chair, one leg crossed over the other, reading something far more serious a book about Earth’s legal systems his coat was folded neatly over the chair’s back, his amulet glinting faintly under the warm light.

very so often, he adjusted his glasses with a thoughtful touch or turned a page with delicate precision. He looked so composed, so focused but your own attention had long since wandered specifically, to the sharp, elegant curve of his horns.

You’d been doing your best to behave. Really, you had. You weren’t some impulsive little gremlin well, not most of the time but your eyes kept flicking to those dark blue horns, curved inward like blades, polished with a soft sheen. They were just… there. Right in your line of sight.

Like some kind of forbidden fruit perched atop his head, taunting you. They looked solid. Heavy. Textured. Your brain started whispering stupid things quiet, chaotic thoughts like, “I bet they feel cool to the touch,” and “What would happen if I just grabbed it?” You tried to shake it off. Refocused on your book. Reread the same sentence for the fourth time. It didn’t help. Your curiosity just wouldn’t shut up. You peeked over the top of your book. Rhys was still reading, posture perfect, eyes scanning the page. Completely unaware.

Then… your hand moved.

One moment you were seated. The next, you were standing on the bed, leaning forward without any real plan, your brain static with nothing but panic and bad ideas. Before logic or dignity could intervene, your hand reached out and gently wrapped around the base of his horn.

Just like that your fingers curled around the smooth, ridged surface, thumb brushing the texture without thinking. It was like grabbing the hilt of a sword made out of heat and lightning. Rhys went completely still.

The book in his hands slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor with a quiet thump. His body locked up so fast you worried he might’ve been hit with a spell. His shoulders tensed, his breath caught, and his eyes wide and confused slowly turned toward you in utter disbelief. You stood there like a deer in headlights, hand still on his horn, and no excuse in the world forming fast enough to save you.

“…Why did you do that?” he asked, his voice a quiet, stunned rasp You froze. “I… I don’t know.” “You don’t know?” he repeated, eyebrows raising slowly. “It was an impulsive thought!” you blurted out, yanking your hand away as fast as humanly possible. “I wasn’t thinking! My brain said ‘do it’ and I didn’t think it’d like, do anything- oh my god, I’m sorry!”

Rhys inhaled deeply, slowly, like he was forcing himself not to combust on the spot. His entire face was red. Even the tips of his ears were turning a faint shade of purple. His hands, still resting on the arms of his chair, were trembling just slightly. He adjusted his glasses with more force than necessary, clearing his throat twice before he found the words.

“For Daemos,” he said carefully, “grabbing someone’s horn is... not done lightly. It’s considered an... intimate gesture.” You stared at him. “...WHAT.” “It’s... traditionally part of courtship,” he added, looking off to the side like he was seriously considering melting into the wall.

Your soul left your body. you collapsed back onto the bed with a groan, dragging the blanket over your head like it might protect you from the embarrassment threatening to kill you on the spot.

“Do I need to offer you ice cream or something to make up for it?” you mumbled into the blanket, mortified beyond repair. There was a pause. Then… a soft laugh.

Your head peeked out. Rhys composed, cool, always serious Rhys was smiling. Really smiling. The kind that reached his eyes. “That would be a start,” he said, still looking mildly flustered but far more amused now.

You sat up straighter, blinking in confusion. “Wait... are you not mad?” “No,” he said gently, his voice back to its usual calm rhythm. “I’m not mad. Surprised, yes. Flustered, absolutely. But... not angry.” You let out a relieved sigh and nodded. Then, in a moment of bravery (or residual stupidity), you murmured, “I really didn’t mean to flirt or anything.”

Rhys glanced at you sideways, fingers tapping the edge of his desk “…So if you had meant to?” he asked quietly You blinked. Your stomach did a very specific flip. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t looking at you directly, but there was a question buried deep in his tone honest curiosity, maybe even hope.

You swallowed, cheeks burning. “…I’d probably have used a spoon and asked to share your ice cream first.” A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He nodded once, slow and thoughtful.

“Noted.”

Pierce

The evening was quiet, the kind of calm that settled into the apartment only when the others were either occupied or finally too tired to cause chaos.

The soft hum of distant traffic filtered through the half-open window, the last light of sunset pouring in gold across the hardwood floor. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor with your back against the couch, flipping lazily through a magazine you found in Ava’s bookshelf. Across the room, Pierce sat in silence, his massive frame hunched over slightly to accommodate his height in the too-small living room.

His claymore rested on his knees as he ran a soft cloth over the blade with smooth, practiced motions calm, efficient, silent. The ritual was oddly soothing to watch.

There was something peaceful about the way he moved, like cleaning the weapon was as natural to him as breathing. You’d seen him like this a few times quiet, focused, existing in the kind of stillness that seemed almost sacred.

His horns caught your eye. You weren’t proud of it. You weren’t even really thinking just looking. They curved upward from the sides of his head, strong and arched, shaded from deep blue at the base to a pale icy glow at the tips. You hadn’t touched them before. None of the Daemos really invited that sort of thing, and Pierce? He was definitely the last person you’d ever risk annoying.

Stoic, strong, terrifyingly tall, and always watching. But maybe that was why your curiosity whispered louder this time. He hadn’t said not to touch. No one had. And you’d spent just enough time around them now to know that most of the rules weren’t written they were found out the hard way.

You glanced at him again. He was still polishing the edge of his sword with that same quiet intensity. Not looking at you. Not expecting anything. The thought came uninvited. "What if I just… grabbed it?" A pause.

You didn’t even realize you were standing until you were behind him. You leaned in slightly just enough and before your better judgment could slam the brakes, your fingers gently wrapped around the curve of one of his horns. Solid. Cool. Smooth.

Pierce stopped moving and the cloth fell from his fingers. The entire room felt like it dropped ten degrees. You froze too, your hand still there, curled around the base of his horn. You stared at the back of his head, eyes wide in slow dawning horror. He didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe.

His shoulders, broad and tense, rose only slightly with each shallow inhale. You watched as the muscles in his neck flexed just once. And then he turned slowly, deliberately his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours.

You stepped back like you’d been burned. “I- I didn’t mean to- It was an impulse! I wasn’t thinking! I just- I thought- ‘What if I grabbed it?’ and then I did, and now I’m talking too much and I want to disappear into the floor-”

Pierce stared at you, blinking once. Then, finally, in his usual deep and quiet tone “…You touched my horn.” You nodded in shame. “Yes. Yes, I did. I’m sorry. It was stupid. I’ll go sit in a corner now.”

He said nothing for a moment, still looking at you like he was processing something very complicated. Then he picked up the cleaning cloth slowly, hands steady but his voice quieter than before. “…That means something to Daemos.” You blinked. “It does?”

He nodded once. “It’s personal. You only do that if you’re…” He trailed off, eyes flicking toward the floor, unsure. “...Very close. It means trust. Or... interest.” You went still. “Interest?” Pierce didn't answer right away. His gaze stayed low, his expression unreadable.

You exhaled. “I swear I wasn’t trying to send a message. I really didn’t know. I was just being a dumb Earthling with too much curiosity.” Another silence passed. Then, quietly, almost shyly: “But if you were sending one?”

Your heart tripped over itself. “I guess I’d be asking if I could stay next time. You know. Touch it again… on purpose.” That earned you a look not startled, not annoyed, but thoughtful. Soft. The kind of expression you weren’t sure Pierce had ever worn before. He returned to cleaning his sword, but his voice was lower, warmer now.

“…I wouldn’t stop you.”

Leif

The rooftop was quiet the kind of quiet that stretched on without pressure where the city lights blinked far below like stars grounded to pavement and time moved slower, softer.

You and Leif sat side by side with your backs to the low wall, legs drawn up or dangling over the edge, each settled in your own silence. There wasn’t much to say. You were used to that with him. Sometimes words felt too sharp for nights like this, when just existing beside him was enough.

He didn’t seem to mind it either. His eyes scanned the horizon, barely blinking, silver hair tousled by the occasional breeze, the pale green curve of his horns catching what little moonlight filtered through the clouds.

There was something almost calm about him in that moment leif, who was usually tension wrapped in flesh, claws behind grins, venom behind charm but tonight he was just... there. Breathing. Thinking. Quiet in a way that made you want to keep the peace intact.

And maybe that’s why it happened.

You weren’t trying to ruin it. You weren’t even really thinking. Your gaze had drifted again toward the curve of one of his horns, the way it glinted in the light, smooth and sharp and a little too elegant for someone like him. It looked... touchable.

Like the kind of thing your brain tagged with a warning sign you couldn’t help but ignore. Your hand moved before you could stop yourself. A soft, hesitant motion. You reached out and gently pressed your fingers against it not yanking, not holding, just brushing your fingertips along its surface in a light, almost curious touch. The reaction was immediate.

Leif froze every muscle in his body locked up, spine going stiff as if you’d struck him with something. The stillness in him was terrifying not the stillness of patience or observation, but the kind that meant danger. The kind that was always followed by a snap. His breath caught in his throat and the air around him shifted like pressure was building under his skin.

You could feel it like the city had gone still around just the two of you. Slowly, he turned his head toward you. His expression was unreadable. Too calm. Too still and when he spoke, his voice was like a knife drawn quietly from its sheath “What the hell… did you just do?”

You pulled your hand back instantly, heart stuttering. “I- I didn’t mean anything by it,” you blurted out, stumbling over your own words.

“It was just- your horn was right there, and my brain just… short-circuited. It was like one of those intrusive thoughts you’re not supposed to act on and then suddenly I did, and I swear I didn’t mean anything weird or disrespectful by it-” You realized how fast you were talking and clamped your mouth shut before you could dig yourself deeper. Your chest felt tight. You weren’t sure if it was fear or embarrassment or both.

Leif blinked once, slowly. His jaw flexed, lips pressed into a thin line. His ears twitched like even his body was trying to process the moment but he didn’t lash out. He didn’t snarl or vanish in a burst of smoke like you half-expected.

He just stared at the horizon again. “You don’t just touch a Daemos’ horn,” he said after a beat, voice quieter now but edged in something deeper- hurt, maybe. Frustration. “That’s not something people do. Not unless they’re your healer. Or your mate.” The breath left your lungs all at once. “Oh,” you said softly. “Oh no.”

He didn’t say anything. And for a while, neither did you. The silence felt heavier now, no longer soft. You looked at him at his jaw, tense but not clenched, the faintest flush of green brushing across his cheekbones. Not fury. Not rage.

It was something much more vulnerable than that. Shame, maybe. Or surprise. You swallowed. “I didn’t mean to cross a line,” you said gently. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known.”

Leif didn’t respond. He just sat there, his posture slowly loosening but still guarded. Then, almost like he was speaking to himself, he muttered, “…I didn’t kill you.” You let out a shaky breath, trying to laugh through the anxiety bubbling in your chest. “That’s… comforting?” you offered, though your voice shook a little.

He let out a short, rough exhale that might’ve been a laugh or something close to it. “Don’t thank me,” he grumbled. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

You tilted your head toward him, watching his expression from the corner of your eye. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” you said quietly. “You just… weren’t expecting it. That’s my fault.” He didn’t look at you. Just ran a hand through his hair and shook his head once. “Yeah, well. You still did it.” His voice wasn’t bitter. Just blunt. But the anger never came. And when the silence returned, it was gentler this time.

“But I didn’t hate it,” he added after a long pause. His words fell between you like something delicate something fragile that he hated admitting even as he said it. Your heart skipped a beat. “What?” you whispered.

Leif shifted, rubbing the back of his neck as if he wished he could teleport off the rooftop and disappear. “Just… if there’s going to be a next time,” he muttered, “maybe warn me first. I almost jumped off the edge.”

You blinked. “There’s going to be a next time?” The question left your lips before you could even think about stopping it, and Leif turned to look at you again. Really look at you.

His expression was sharp, yes but there was something softer behind his eyes now. Something amused. Curious. Like he wasn’t sure if he was inviting danger or hoping for it. “Depends,” he said with the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You got the guts to try it again after what just happened?”

You couldn’t help it. The laugh that escaped your mouth was small, surprised, and very, very real. You looked away, cheeks warm, and shook your head and beside you, Leif let out a breath not a laugh, not exactly, but a huff that came close. His shoulders eased. His jaw unclenched and in the quiet that followed, you both sat there, not needing to fill the space with anything more than what had already been said.

Noi

One second, you were both sprawled across the floor of Ava’s living room, flipping through some random Earth magazines, trading snacks and jokes, and laughing at an ad for something called "noise-canceling yoga pants" which made Noi genuinely concerned about how loud pants could be.

The next second, your brain threw out one of those impulsive thoughts. One of those don’t do it, don’t do it, oh no you did it kind of thoughts. You reached up without thinking, without hesitation and gently, almost curiously, placed your hand on one of Noi’s horns.

The world stopped.

Noi’s entire body locked up in your peripheral vision, like someone had frozen time specifically around him. The magazine in his hand slowly fluttered to the floor like a feather. His ears twitched. His shoulders tensed. And then slowly, slowly he turned his head toward you.

His amber eyes were wide, pupils dilated in a way you’d never seen before. His mouth opened slightly like he wanted to say something, but no sound came out. Only a squeaky inhale. Then, in one catastrophic burst of noise, he squealed.

“Y-YOU TOUCHED MY HORN!!” he wailed, launching himself backward with enough force to knock over a lamp and nearly somersault over the back of the couch. He scrambled up, red-faced, flustered beyond reason, and practically vibrating like a kicked puppy. You blinked, frozen, your hand still slightly raised in the air where his horn had been. “I- Wait- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it!” you stammered. “It was just an impulsive thing! Like your horns are there and I just- my brain went grab.”

Noi covered his face with both hands, whining in mortified Daemonic. “You can’t just grab someone’s horns, that’s like- intimate! It’s like a daemos- I can't tell you!!” His voice cracked on the last word, and you watched as he crouched behind the couch, peeking over the edge with a face so red it was practically radioactive. “Now I’m gonna have to explain this! Rhys is gonna know! He always knows!”

You stared at him, processing. “Wait. Horns are… like romantic?” He groaned. “YES. It’s like… emotional touch territory! Most daemos only let their mate or a healer touch their horns you’re not supposed to just poke them like a button!!” He looked so genuinely distressed, you felt your guilt melt into something softer something warm. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” you said gently, lowering your hand. “I seriously didn’t know. I’d never hurt you on purpose.”

There was a pause. A long, agonizing, silence-filled pause. Noi peeked up from behind the couch. “So… wait… if you did know... would you still have done it?” he asked, voice small and a little hopeful. That caught you off guard.

You tilted your head. “Maybe. Depends if I knew it’d make you blush like that,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood. That earned you a muffled yelp and the sound of him thumping his head against the back of the couch in panic. “You’re evil…” he whimpered.

You walked over slowly, kneeling by where he was crouched. “Hey. Noi,” you said softly, reaching out but stopping just shy of touching him. “I didn’t mean to jump over some serious cultural boundary. But now that I know… I don’t want to pretend it didn’t mean something, either. Because I do care about you.” He lifted his head, face still pink but his expression was softer now. “Really?” he asked, voice cracking like his heart didn’t believe it could be true. You nodded. “Really. I didn’t mean to say it with my hands, but… yeah.”

He swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand while the other slowly shakily reached out toward yours. “Okay then,” he mumbled, still pink. “Just… if you’re gonna touch my horns again… can you maybe warn me first? Because otherwise I might scream so loud we break a window or something”

You smiled and gently laced your fingers through his. “Deal" and for the briefest, most precious second, he leaned forward, pressed his forehead lightly to your own his horns just brushing your hairline and whispered in a trembling voice, “Y-you can do it again. Later. If you still want to.” His hand squeezed yours shyly. “Just… just not when we're in a public space"

Asch

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Asch notices your habit long before he understands it. To him, it doesn’t look like distraction, it looks like abandonment. Your eyes glaze over mid-march, your responses lag seconds too late, your body still moving while your mind is elsewhere ━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ In Daemos, that kind of behavior is synonymous with soul instability, possession, or impending death. The first few times it happens, Asch’s temper flares immediately. He snaps orders at you louder than necessary, barked commands sharp enough to cut through stone, convinced you’re ignoring him or challenging his authority

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ When you don’t respond right away, his irritation turns into something far more dangerous alarm. He has seen people lose themselves before. It never ends well

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ The moment it truly unsettles him is when you almost get hurt because of it. You drift while walking just for a moment and don’t notice the edge of uneven ground or a threat nearby

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Asch grabs you harshly, yanking you back into place, flames flickering unconsciously around his hands as he demands to know what spell you’re under. But when you come back fully confused, breathing unevenly, apologising too fast, eyes wide with shame instead of defiance his anger stalls. You don’t look rebellious. You look small. Vulnerable in a way that makes his chest tighten uncomfortably. He orders you to stay close after that, tone sharp, refusing to acknowledge that what he’s really doing is keeping you within arm’s reach

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Ava is the one who finally forces the truth into the open. She notices the signs immediately the pacing, the murmuring under your breath, the way you seem more present in your own head than in the room

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ When Asch accuses you of carelessness or weakness, Ava snaps back at him in a way only she can get away with. She explains maladaptive daydreaming bluntly at first, in 'Human' terms, that it’s not intentional, not laziness, not disrespect. When she sees the confusion on all their faces, she reframes it in language they understand. She tells Asch it’s like your mind learned to escape into stories to survive, the way Daemos sometimes retreat into controlled trances or rituals to endure pain. “They’re not leaving because they want to,” she says firmly. “They’re leaving because their brain thinks it’s safer.”

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ That explanation hits Asch harder than he expects. He goes quiet in a way that makes the others uneasy. The idea that your wandering mind isn’t defiance but a defense forces him to reframe every interaction he’s had with you

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ He remembers how often you apologize when you come back, how tense you get when someone raises their voice, how you never argue back. He doesn’t apologize outright his pride won’t allow it but his behavior shifts unmistakably after that conversation. He stops shouting your name when you drift and starts saying it lower, closer

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ He positions himself subtly between you and danger when your focus slips. His hand finds your wrist or sleeve, grounding without yanking, anchoring instead of punishing

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Asch becomes hyper-aware of your vulnerability once he understands it. He hates that you leave your guard down for long periods it infuriates him in the same way his own past helplessness does. But instead of trying to force you to change, he takes responsibility for the space around you. He shortens patrols when he notices you slipping more often

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ He assigns you positions where others can cover you without drawing attention. If someone startles you back too harshly, he snaps at them, not you. There’s a possessive edge to it not ownership, but protection like he’s decided that if your mind insists on wandering, then nothing will touch you while it does

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ In quieter moments, Asch watches you more than you realize. He notices the way your fingers twitch when you’re halfway gone, the way your breathing changes, the exact second your eyes refocus when you come back

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ If this leans romantic, those moments are heavy with unspoken emotion his hand lingering a second longer than necessary, his voice softer when he tells you to sit, to rest, to stay near him. If it’s platonic, the care is just as intense, only framed as duty: the prince protecting someone under his command

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Either way, Asch never lets you feel like a liability again. He doesn’t like that your mind escapes but he understands now that it kept you alive. And that, to him, is not weakness. It’s proof that you endured

Rhys

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Rhys notices your maladaptive daydreaming before anyone else but unlike Asch, his first response isn’t anger. It’s observation. He clocks the delayed reactions, the way your eyes unfocus mid-sentence, the subtle shift in posture that signals you’ve mentally stepped somewhere else

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ At first, he assumes exhaustion or stress; Earth is overwhelming even to trained Daemos, and humans are far more fragile than they let on. But when it happens repeatedly long stretches where you move and breathe but don’t truly register what’s happening around you Rhys begins categorizing it as something more complex. To him, it resembles a dissociative trance, unintentional and dangerously uncontrolled.

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Rhys is deeply unsettled by how exposed you are when it happens. In Daemos, entering any altered mental state without ritual safeguards is considered reckless at best and suicidal at worst. Watching you do it unconsciously, without wards or anchors, puts him on edge in a way he rarely allows himself to show. He doesn’t scold you or raise his voice instead, he quietly restructures his behavior around you

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ He places you where threats are least likely to emerge, ensures someone competent is always nearby, and subtly shortens or simplifies instructions when he notices your focus beginning to fray. If you miss something important, he repeats it calmly, never calling attention to the lapse

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ When Ava finally explains maladaptive daydreaming to the group, Rhys listens with intense focus. He asks questions not out of skepticism, but necessity. Duration? Awareness? Triggers? Memory retention? Ava explains that it’s compulsive, often tied to anxiety or trauma, and that pulling someone out of it too abruptly can cause distress

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Rhys immediately reframes it as a maladaptive coping mechanism, not a behavioural flaw. The word coping is what changes everything for him. To survive long-term psychological strain without magic or ritual support, the human mind created an escape route. Inefficient, risky but effective enough to keep you alive. Rhys accepts this with quiet gravity

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ From that point on, Rhys becomes your most consistent anchor. He never startles you awake unless absolutely necessary. Instead, he uses grounding techniques instinctively saying your name softly, lowering himself into your line of sight, giving you something tangible to focus on when you return

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ He pays attention to patterns, learning what situations cause you to slip away more often and adjusting plans accordingly. If you apologize after drifting, Rhys gently stops you. “You did nothing wrong,” he says, tone firm but kind. “Your mind responded the only way it knew how.”

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ In a romantic reading, Rhys’ care is deeply intimate in a restrained way. He sits beside you during long stretches, presence steady and unintrusive, offering quiet conversation or silence depending on what you seem to need

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ He asks about your inner worlds not to pull you out of them, but to understand what draws you there. He never pressures you to share more than you’re ready to. There’s a quiet sadness in his eyes when he realizes how often you chose imagination over reality because reality hurt more

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ In a platonic reading, the devotion is just as strong, mentor-like, protective, unwavering. He becomes the one you instinctively orient toward when you come back, because he’s always there, calm and unshaken

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ What affects Rhys most is the shame you carry about it. He notices the way you shrink after long episodes, the guilt in your voice when you realize time has passed

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ That bothers him far more than the daydreaming itself. Rhys believes deeply in efficiency and control, but he also believes that systems must adapt to people, not the other way around. He never frames your maladaptive daydreaming as something you must get rid off

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Instead, he helps you manage it safely, logically, and without judgment. To Rhys, survival strategies are not sins. They are proof of resilience. And if your mind learned to wander to protect you, then his role quietly, steadfastly is to make sure you always have a safe place to return to

Pierce

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Pierce notices it before anyone else does the way your gaze unfocuses mid-conversation, how your shoulders go slack like you’ve slipped somewhere far away without moving an inch. At first, he assumes it’s fear or shock

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Earth is loud, overwhelming, too alive. But then it keeps happening even in quiet moments. You’ll be sitting safely indoors, maybe near a window or curled on the floor, and suddenly your eyes glaze over as if you’re watching something only you can see. Pierce never snaps his fingers in front of your face or raises his voice to pull you back

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ He simply waits. Standing nearby. Guarding. Watching the rise and fall of your chest until you return on your own. When you do, he only asks one thing, quietly “Are you hurt?” Not what were you thinking, not where did you go just whether you’re safe

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Your maladaptive daydreaming unsettles him in a way he doesn’t fully understand at first. On Daemos, dissociation like that usually came from trauma, curses, or magic backlash

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ He watches you drift into elaborate inner worlds kingdoms, stories, versions of yourself stronger or freer and he recognizes something painfully familiar in it. Escape. Survival. Pierce understands living in your head to avoid living with your past. He has done it himself, replaying battles, words spoken by dying humans, commands he followed because he didn’t know how to disobey. The difference is that your daydreams are soft where his memories are sharp. Bright where his are soaked in blood. That contrast makes him fiercely protective of you

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ When you explain haltingly, embarrassed that you don’t always mean to leave, that your mind just does it, Pierce listens with his full attention. No interruptions. No judgment. He kneels so he’s at eye level, enormous frame folding carefully, and nods once when you finish. “Then I will watch,” he says. “So you don’t disappear alone.”

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ From then on, he becomes your anchor without ever trying to be your leash. If he notices you slipping, he’ll gently ground you offering his hand, pressing his thumb against your wrist so you can feel his pulse, murmuring a single word like “Here.” He never drags you back harshly. He knows forcing someone out of their head can feel like ripping open a wound

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Pierce is surprisingly tender about the things you daydream. If you talk about them the characters, the stories, the versions of yourself that feel more real than reality he listens like they matter. Because to you, they do. He doesn’t call them childish or delusions. He calls them creations

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Sometimes, when you’re curled up nearby and muttering bits of dialogue under your breath, he’ll quietly ask questions later. “The warrior you spoke of… did they survive?” And when you look startled that he remembered, he simply shrugs. “It was important to you.” Over time, you realise he sees your inner world not as something broken, but as proof of how deeply you feel how hard you’ve fought to stay alive in your own way

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Your daydreams sometimes spike when Pierce leaves the room patrols, scouting missions, anything dangerous. Your mind fills the silence with worst-case scenarios, looping fears, imagined losses. When he returns and finds you distant, withdrawn into your head, he doesn’t scold you for worrying

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ He sits beside you and removes his gauntlet so his bare hand can rest against yours. Warm. Real. Solid. “I am here,” he says, voice low and steady. “I came back.” And something about the certainty in his tone helps break the spiral. Helps remind you that not every story ends in tragedy not this one

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Pierce struggles sometimes, quietly, with guilt. There are moments when he watches you escape into your mind and wonders if being near him makes reality harder for you. After all, he is a daemos. A knight. A killer who followed orders without question. He fears that your daydreams might be a refuge from him. But every time you choose to sit close anyway resting your head against his arm, threading your fingers through the fabric of his sleeve to ground yourself that fear eases. You don’t see him as a monster haunting your reality. You see him as part of the world you’re willing to stay present in

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ And in a quiet, unspoken way, you help Pierce too. When he finds himself trapped in his own memories staring too long at nothing, jaw tight, breathing shallow you recognize the signs

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ You don’t demand explanations. You simply mirror what he does for you. You touch his wrist. Say his name softly. Bring him back. Together, you become each other’s anchors two people who know what it’s like to live halfway between worlds, choosing, again and again, to stay

Leif

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Leif notices your maladaptive daydreaming in the worst possible way at first in the middle of danger. One second you’re standing beside him, the next your eyes drift, body going still like prey freezing before a strike. His immediate instinct is irritation edged with fear

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ On Daemos, spacing out like that got people killed. His voice snaps your name sharply the first time, fingers gripping your arm hard enough to ground you, not gentle at all. But when you flinch not from pain, but from being dragged violently back into reality something in him halts. He sees it then. Not carelessness, not weakness. It’s dissociation. It’s escape, and Leif knows exactly what it looks like when someone leaves their body because staying hurts too much

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Once he understands, his behavior shifts not softer in the obvious ways, but more intentional. Leif doesn’t coddle. He positions himself between you and threats when your focus slips. He keeps moving, keeps talking, keeps you tethered with noise and presence

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ If you drift while walking, he grabs your sleeve and keeps you moving without comment. If you stare off into nothing while sitting, he flicks something small at you a pebble, a leaf, the edge of his finger against your knee pretending it’s teasing when it’s actually grounding. “Hey,” he mutters. “Stay with me. You can wander later.” There’s no shame in his voice, just urgency. He doesn’t want to lose you to the world inside your head the way he lost everyone who ever promised to stay

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Your daydreams fascinate him more than he admits. They’re elaborate, vivid stories layered over stories, alternate versions of yourself where you’re braver, loved more openly, never abandoned

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Leif pretends he doesn’t listen when you ramble about them half-embarrassed, but he remembers details. He remembers names. He remembers plotlines. Sometimes, when he’s lounging nearby pretending to clean his blades, he’ll casually ask, “That one world you made does it have forests?” And when you light up, startled that he paid attention, he smirks like it’s no big deal. But it is. He doesn’t let many people’s inner worlds touch his own. The fact that he lets yours in means more than he knows how to say

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Leif understands addiction even if yours looks different from his. He recognizes the compulsive pull of the daydreams, how they rush in when reality gets too sharp, too loud, too lonely. He doesn’t try to take them away from you. He’d never do that. He knows what happens when coping mechanisms are ripped out without replacements he lived it

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Instead, he becomes something solid in the real world worth staying present for. He pulls you into small moments: dragging you outside to feel the sun, teleporting you just to make you laugh, shoving food into your hands and insisting you eat now, not later. “You can disappear after,” he says lightly. “Just- eat first.”

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ There are moments when your daydreams turn dark spirals, imagined betrayals, endings where everyone leaves. Leif senses those shifts immediately

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ He gets quieter then, more dangerous in a controlled way. He sits close, knees touching, and says blunt things like, “I’m still here.” Or, “If you’re imagining me leaving, stop. I won’t.” He doesn’t promise forever lightly promises were lies told to him before people vanished but when Leif says something like that, it’s grounded in action. He stays. He watches you come back. He makes sure no one interrupts the process. If someone does, they get a look sharp enough to cut bone.

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ In a strange way, you help Leif heal too. Your imagination reminds him that not everything has to be blood or survival or abandonment. Sometimes, late at night, when you’re half-lost in a fantasy and he’s half-lost in memories, you sit back-to-back both of you grounded by shared presence even while your minds wander elsewhere

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ He never says it out loud, but you become proof that escape doesn’t always mean running away. Sometimes it’s just resting somewhere safe before returning. And if Leif has anything to say about it, that safe place will always include him

Noi

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Noi notices your maladaptive daydreaming almost immediately not because it’s obvious, but because he watches you. A lot. You’ll be mid-conversation, or sitting beside him sharing food, and suddenly your responses slow, your eyes drifting just past him like you’re looking through a doorway only you can see

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ At first, Noi panics. He waves a hand in front of your face, calls your name too loudly, nearly trips over himself trying to make sure you’re not hurt or possessed by some kind of human spirit. When you finally blink back into yourself and laugh it off, he looks close to tears. “D-don’t do that,” he says shakily. “I thought I lost you.” That fear never really goes away but it becomes quieter once he understands what’s happening

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ When you explain maladaptive daydreaming, Noi listens with the kind of attention that makes you feel painfully seen. He doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t question whether it’s real. He just nods, wide amber eyes serious. “So… it’s like your brain takes you somewhere safe when things get scary?” When you say yes, he exhales like something heavy has finally been set down. Compassion makes sense to him it always has

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Being targeted for it on Daemos taught him how precious it is. From then on, he treats your daydreaming like something fragile, not shameful. If you drift, he doesn’t yank you back. He sits close and talks softly, narrating small things to keep you tethered. “I’m still here. You’re sitting next to me. Johnny’s sleeping. Nothing bad is happening.”

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Noi becomes your emotional anchor in the gentlest way possible. He holds your hand whenever he notices your grip loosening from reality, rubbing his thumb in slow circles against your palm because he’s learned that sensation helps you stay. If you start staring off, he offers you snacks cookies, pizza crusts, anything he knows you like because eating keeps you grounded

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ He praises you constantly when you come back on your own. “Good job,” he says softly, like you just did something incredibly brave. “You came back.” No one has ever made returning to reality feel like an accomplishment before, and it nearly breaks you the first time he does

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Your daydreams themselves fascinate Noi. He asks about them with genuine excitement, like they’re stories you’re gifting him. “Wait, wait tell me again! That one where you’re a hero?” He laughs, blushes, gets emotionally invested, cheering for versions of you that exist only in your head

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Sometimes, when you’re embarrassed and say they’re silly, he shakes his head fiercely. “They’re not! You made a whole world. That’s… really cool.” He doesn’t realise it yet, but he’s doing something incredibly important. He’s teaching you that your inner world doesn’t have to be hidden to be accepted.

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Noi does struggle, though especially when your daydreams pull you away during moments he’s already afraid. When you go quiet while Asch is angry, or when danger looms, Noi’s anxiety spikes hard

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ He clings to you then, literally positioning himself in front of you even though he’s the weakest knight. “You can’t leave right now,” he whispers urgently. “Please. Stay with me.” It’s not a demand it’s a plea from someone who knows what it’s like to be overlooked, discarded, almost killed for being “too soft.” The idea of losing you, even temporarily, terrifies him.

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ But you help Noi just as much as he helps you. You reassure him when he feels useless, when he worries he’s dead weight without magic. You remind him that compassion saved Ava, saved him, saved you more times than he realizes

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ When he spirals, you ground him squeezing his hands, repeating his name, telling him he’s doing enough. Together, you become proof that softness isn’t weakness. That drifting doesn’t mean giving up. That staying even imperfectly is an act of courage

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ To Noi, you aren’t broken for escaping into your mind. You’re strong for surviving the world in a way that kept your heart intact and as long as he’s around, you’ll never have to come back alone

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ You try to keep your distance, observing these strange demons Ava dragged into her life, but Asch notices every time your attention lands on him, and it irritates him because it feels like recognition

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ He keeps acting suspicious and aggressive, but the truth is this before he knows anything about your spells, your mother, or your history, he already knows you carry the kind of presence only a long-time survivor has ━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ You’re quiet, watchful, and controlled the way someone acts when they’ve seen more battles than they ever talk about. Asch reads that immediately, because he’s lived his entire life steeped in danger. It makes him wary but it also makes him curious

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Asch doesn’t say it aloud, but something about you bothers him not in a hostile way, but in a way he can’t categorize. You don’t flinch when he ignites his palms. You don’t cower when he orders people around. You don’t act impressed or intimidated by his title, magic, or temper

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ In fact, you’re frustratingly calm. He’s used to humans being overwhelmed by daemos magic, but you watch it like someone assessing its mechanics, not admiring it

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ The others pick up on the weird tension too. Noi keeps glancing between you and Asch with innocent confusion, Leif tries to place why your gaze seems so calculating, and Rhys suspects immediately that you’re hiding something supernatural. But Asch? He sees something more personal in you the shadowed look in your eyes, the subtle exhaustion of someone who has stood on battlefields where hope was a joke

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ He recognises it because he sees it in himself whenever he catches his reflection in water. You don’t speak about what you’ve been through, but you don’t have to. Asch has lived through despair and cruelty and loss enough to recognise another soul carved by conflict, and it makes him watch you more closely, even when he pretends not to

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ The day Asch sees you use magic, everything changes. It happens when Asch accidentally breaks something and a small burst of unstable Daemos magic spirals out of control

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ It sends Ava stumbling, Leif coughing, Pierce getting ready to stop it, and Noi scrambling to contain it but you step forward, calm as moonlight, mutter a phrase in Ancient Greek, and with a flick of your fingers, the unstable energy dissolves into harmless sparks. Everyone freezes. Rhys stares like you’ve casually rewritten physics. Noi squeaks. Leif looks absolutely terrified and impressed at the same time. As for Asch? He’s standing there with the rare expression of someone whose worldview just got punched

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ His first response is aggressive: he demands to know what you are, how you learned to do that, and why you hid it. But beneath the anger is something closer to shock and vulnerability. Humans shouldn’t do that. Even Daemos struggle to wield raw magic so smoothly... and there you were, extinguishing chaotic energy like it was a candle flame. It forces him to confront something he hates: uncertainty. He watches you more closely after that, eyes sharp, posture defensive, refusing to admit that your magic intrigues him instead of threatening him

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ When you finally explain what you are a child of Hecate, born of magic itself, forged in prophecies and war Asch goes completely still. He’s heard legends of gods before, though Daemos culture categorizes them differently but hearing you casually list your abilities, seeing how matter-of-factly you mention fighting Titans and monsters, surviving wars, manipulating fire, shadow, time, illusions he’s silent for a long time. Not in judgment. Not in disbelief. In understanding but also interest. If such humans or mortals existed, it means more magic Daemos could have

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ But also due to that suddenly so many things about you make sense. The calm, the exhaustion, the instinctive awareness of danger, the way you react to violence with practised precision instead of fear. What shocks him more is how nonchalantly you talk about your past. You say it with the tone someone uses to describe their job, not their trauma. Asch sees that, for what it is, the way a warrior minimises their own suffering is because they’re accustomed to no one believing them or caring and for the first time, he doesn’t treat you like a human or an outsider or a threat. He treats you like someone whose power commands respect. Someone who has survived the impossible. Someone whose strength is not arrogance, but necessity. It’s the closest he’s come to admiring a human.

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ The first time a monster tracks you down a remnant attracted to your demigod scent Asch is ready to obliterate it. He steps in front of you with flames already crackling along his arms, cape tossing dramatically behind him because of course it does. But you move faster. You pivot around him, murmur an incantation that twists the air, and suddenly the monster is screaming as spectral chains slam it to the ground. Asch’s fire fizzles out

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ He watches, stunned, as you freeze the creature in place with a circle of ice, then melt it with violet fire that burns hotter than anything he’s ever conjured. The way you finish it is fast, efficient, almost surgical. Not flashy. Not chaotic. Controlled. Lethal.

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Asch recognizes battle technique when he sees it the kind that comes from training under pressure where hesitation kills. He’s seen knights fight. He’s seen generals fight. But the way you move is something else. He realizes you’re not just powerful you’re someone forged in war, shaped by divine chaos. And it forces something unfamiliar and deeply uncomfortable into his chest: worry.

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ When you sway from magical exhaustion, he reaches out before he can stop himself, grabbing your arm to steady you. He immediately lets go after, embarrassed and irritated, but the moment hangs between you. For the rest of the night, he stays closer to your side than usual, not admitting the real reason he respects you now not just as a sorcerer, but as a warrior.

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Once Asch knows the truth about you, his behavior shifts in ways he refuses to acknowledge. He becomes… observant. Not soft never soft but attentive

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ He watches how you use your magic whether your hands shake afterward, whether your breathing changes, whether your aura dims from overexertion. He asks questions indirectly, phrased like commands or criticisms “You’re casting that wrong.” “You shouldn’t drain yourself for something so trivial.” “You didn’t sleep again.” All of which translate to “I’m worried.” though Asch would rather swallow glass than admit it

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ He treats you differently than he treats Ava or the others not because he values you more (though he does), but because he sees you as someone who understands responsibility, sacrifice, and the weight of magic

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ You’re someone he can speak bluntly to without worrying you’ll crumble. Someone whose power mirrors the intensity of his own world, his own struggles. Someone he trusts in a fight, in a plan, in silence and though he’d never admit it aloud, there’s a spark in his chest whenever he realises you’re not afraid of him not his flames, not his temper, not his title, not his power

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ You are more than he expected. More than human. More than he knows how to handle and for Asch, who has spent his whole life surrounded by fear, submission, and duty, someone like you is the most intriguing thing he’s found on Earth

Rhys

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Rhys is barely holding himself together when they arrive on Earth his lungs burning, vision swimming, air too thin, light too harsh. Even with his composure, he nearly collapses beside the others but something anchors him: a pulse in the atmosphere, subtle but incredibly precise. Magic. Not Daemos magic, not human, but something ancient and woven into the world itself

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ He focuses on it through the disorientation, tracking it like a scholar recognizing a lost spell and it leads him straight to you. When his blurry vision steadies enough to see your silhouette near Ava, his brows knit in confusion. Humans should not carry power strong enough for him to feel from across a street

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Your presence isn’t overwhelming it’s controlled, quiet, almost hidden… yet undeniable. Rhys doesn’t speak on it immediately, filing it away like a puzzle he intends to solve. But from the very moment he steps into this strange new world, he knows this there is someone here who understands magic in a way Earth shouldn’t allow, and Rhys intends to find out why

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Rhys notices everything about you in those early days the way your eyes track their movements, how you position yourself near exits without seeming paranoid, how your energy remains steady even when Asch lights something on fire. He’s used to humans reacting with chaos and emotion, but you remain calm, almost quiet in a strategic way. You observe more than you speak. You calculate before you react. It makes you stand out from everyone else on Earth, and from the Daemos as well

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ While Asch sees your silence as challenge and Noi sees it as mystery, Rhys sees something familiar: someone who avoids revealing their hand until necessary. Someone cautious. Someone who carries experience behind their eyes, the kind you only get after battle or tragedy or responsibility too heavy for your age. He speaks to you with more respect than he gives most humans, never raising his voice, never treating you like you're fragile and you, in turn, treat him like someone whose intelligence is worth listening to, not mocking. It creates a quiet, mutual understanding long before either of you truly know the other

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ The first time Rhys sees you use magic, his entire worldview freezes. It happens during one of Asch is disasters a burst of unstable energy that threatens to collapse in on itself

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Rhys steps forward, prepared to contain it with a counter-sigil Lady Grandma taught him, but you beat him to it. You whisper a phrase in Ancient Greek, your hand slicing through the air with perfect precision, and the chaotic magic bends. Not breaks. Not bursts. Bends. Like it obeys you. Rhys watches, stunned, as you weave the spell with the ease of someone who has spent years mastering it. When the energy dissolves, leaving the air clear and harmless, Rhys stands completely still. He doesn’t gasp or shout like the others he falls into silent, sharp analysis, eyes narrowed as he tries to reconcile what he just witnessed with everything he knows about human limitations. Finally, he asks calmly, but with an undertone he rarely shows genuine curiosity. “What… exactly are you?” His tone isn’t accusing or fearful It’s interested

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ When you explain the truth who your mother is, what you’ve survived, the war you fought in, the magic you were born from Rhys listens without interrupting once. His expression shifts subtly as he connects each fact with things he has observed about you: the way you cloak your presence without conscious thought, your flawless control over fire and shadow, the quiet exhaustion behind your eyes that only warriors understand. He doesn’t treat you like a curiosity or a danger. He treats you like a scholar encountering a divine text he never expected to read. “That explains everything,” he murmurs more to himself than to you, voice soft, thoughtful. He asks questions that show he’s truly trying to understand: how your magic interacts with the Mist, whether your mother taught you directly, how you manage the physical toll of overusing spells

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ He doesn’t push when the questions become too personal he respects boundaries better than any of the others. And when you admit, quietly, that you came here to escape the chaos of your past, to find something like peace, Rhys doesn’t pity you. He only says, “Then we will not disrupt that peace unnecessarily.” A promise disguised as logic.

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ When the first monster tracks you down, Rhys is already preparing a defensive sigil stepping protectively in front of Ava, telling Noi where to take cover, organizing the group with calm clarity. But then you step forward. And Rhys watches you move like a force born from prophecy, shadows bending around you, your voice slipping into ancient language, magic shaping itself to your will with terrifying grace

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ You don’t attack recklessly your movements are precise, deliberate, efficient. Every spell is calculated. Every motion has purpose

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ When you freeze the monster with a cryokinetic binding, Rhys stops mid-incantation. When you finish it with controlled fire, his hands lower. He studies the way your power flows how it strains your breathing, how it flickers at your fingertips, how you suppress the exhaustion with practiced discipline. You stumble slightly once it’s over, and Rhys is at your side instantly steadying without touching, respectful without being distant. “You’re overexerting,” he says softly. "Don’t.” It’s not a command. It’s concern, wrapped in logic. And from that moment on, Rhys positions himself near you during any conflict not because he thinks you’re weak, but because he knows you’ll push yourself too far if someone isn’t there to watch your limits.

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ After learning who and what you are, Rhys becomes subtly almost imperceptibly protective of you. Not in the smothering way Pierce is or the territorial way Asch is, but in quiet, thoughtful actions: standing between you and bright sunlight when you’re drained, handing you water before you realize you need it, rearranging plans so that your energy won’t be wasted

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹He observes your spells with fascination, not fear, often asking genuine questions about your techniques or the mechanics behind your magic. The scholar in him finds you extraordinary the knight in him respects your strength Rhys recognizes your pain and endurance. He speaks to you differently than he speaks to anyone else, calmer, softer, more precise and he lets you speak to him in ways no one else can: questioning his strategies, correcting his assessments, even teasing him lightly when his seriousness becomes too much

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Rhys doesn’t say it aloud, but he values your presence deeply not because you’re powerful, but because you carry yourself with the same restraint, intelligence, and quiet strength he strives to maintain. You are the first human he has ever seen as an equal and perhaps the first being on Earth he has ever allowed himself to trust

Pierce

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ When Pierce first arrived on Earth struggling to breathe, sunlight biting his skin, gravity tugging at his massive frame he was too overwhelmed by the sensory shock to give much thought to anything except surviving but even then, through the haze, the moment he saw you? Something in him stilled

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ You weren’t even doing anything spectacular—just existing, moving, breathing like the world wasn’t dangerous at all yet the calm way you observed your surroundings made him study you harder than he meant to. Unlike Ava, you hadn’t screamed, attacked, or panicked when the Daemos stumbled into the alleyway. You took one look at the five overwhelmed demons and instinctively stepped back, calculating, cautious… but not cruel. Pierce, even struggling for air, recognized that instantly. You didn’t try to help them like Ava helped Asch, but you also didn’t run. You simply watched with this sharp, controlled awareness that felt more threatening than any weapon

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Pierce quiet, disciplined, used to reading humans only as targets was deeply unsettled by how composed you were. Even as he suffered from the oxygen shift, even as Asch barked orders, even as the others argued and panicked, Pierce kept glancing at you between breaths, confused by the fact that of all the things going wrong, you were the one thing he couldn’t look away from

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Pierce is a man of few words, but his eyes miss nothing. He watches how you move through Ava’s apartment with effortless caution, how you instinctively shield others while remaining perfectly calm yourself. Humans usually panic, or gawk, or run away from the Daemos you do none of that. You observe. You think. You react only when necessary, and always with intention. Pierce notes the subtle things the way you shift closer to exits without looking fearful.

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ The way your presence stays tightly controlled, wrapped around you like a second skin, the way you stand your ground even when a seven-foot knight looms beside you. While Asch challenges you and Noi marvels at you, Pierce sees something different: discipline. Pain. Experience. The kind that doesn’t come from Earth. The kind only warriors or survivors carry in their eyes. He never asks why. He never pries but he speaks to you more gently than he does to anyone else, answering your questions with quiet precision, letting you question him without bristling. He respects you immediately, instinctively, without needing an explanation. And you treat him not like a monster, not like a threat but like someone whose silence has value. That alone pulls him toward you more than he knows how to admit

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ When Pierce first sees you use magic, it doesn’t feel real. It begins during one of his own mistakes a burst of unstable Daemos energy crackling uncontrollably after he misjudges the atmospheric pressure. Instantly, he steps forward, ready to shield the others with his body if he must but you move first. You whisper ancient Greek, a spell sliding from your tongue with the grace of someone who learned it long before Daemos ever fell

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ The wild magic bends not violently, not rebelliously, but obediently, folding into your palm like a tide returning to its moon. Pierce freezes mid-step. His entire world narrows to you, your breath steady, your hands sure, your expression calm. He has seen humans die for far less. He has seen Daemos crumble under spells weaker than this. And you a being he thought was human handle it like you were born from its very source. His eyes widen, the smallest crack in his stoic armor. He doesn’t shout, doesn’t demand answers. He simply asks, voice low and steady, “…Who are you?” Not with fear. Not with accusation. With wonder. Respect. And something like hope, buried so deep in his chest he doesn’t recognize it at first

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Pierce listens to your explanation with the same focus he used to give to royal briefings under Rhal and well Asch as well

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Pierce was Silent, attentive, absorbing every detail. When you say “Hecate,” he doesn’t flinch like the others; instead, he tilts his head thoughtfully, then asks in his gentle, deep voice, “Is she… your Asch?” Meaning like your ruler, your source of magic, your divine authority. When you explain she is a goddess, and your mother is not a king maybe a queen? you guess but the air around Pierce darkens with a mix of reverence and sorrow

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ The Daemos have Lady Grandma, but she is the last flickering match in a dying kingdom. Meanwhile you… you carry an entire pantheon’s weight in your blood. Pierce doesn’t envy you he understands you. The responsibility. The exhaustion. The duty. When you reveal your magic can exhaust you or knock you unconscious, his jaw clenches slightly. He does not ask further questions. He simply nods and makes a silent vow he won’t voice never let you reach that point

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ The first time you fight, Pierce is already stepping forward to intercept the monster tracking you. His body moves before thought shield Asch, direct Noi, keep Lief from charging blindly. But then you move. Not with human desperation, nor Daemos aggression. With prophecy. You call shadows like old companions, weave ice with the ease of breathing, and strike with fire so controlled it looks sculpted. Pierce lowers his claymore slowly, watching you with quiet awe. Every motion you make is deliberate. Efficient. Beautiful in its precision

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ You fight not like someone showing off power, but like someone who has earned every piece of it through pain and sacrifice. When you finish the creature with a final burst of controlled flame and sway slightly from exhaustion, Pierce is at your side immediately steady, silent, gentle. His hand hovers near your back, careful not to touch unless you need him. “Don’t push yourself,” he says softly, but his meaning is deeper. From that moment forward, Pierce moves beside you in every fight not because he thinks you’re weak, but because he knows strength like yours comes with a cost

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Once Pierce understands who and what you are, his care for you becomes woven into his every action subtle, silent, meant only for you to notice. He shields you from harsh sunlight when your magic dips. He hands you water before you realize your hands are shaking. He watches for signs of spell fatigue with the trained eyes of someone who has lost comrades before

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ He adjusts plans of going out with "the prisoner" aka ava to conserve your energy without ever making you feel fragile. He asks quiet, thoughtful questions never invasive, always respectful. “How can I help you recover?” “Do certain spells drain you more?” “What can I carry for you?” He lets you see sides of him no one else does. The softness beneath the stoicism, the compassion he hides from Asch, the guilt he carries from the humans he once harmed. And in you, Pierce sees something he didn’t believe was possible a powerful being who chooses kindness. Someone he doesn’t have to fear.

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Someone he doesn’t have to protect out of duty, but out of choice. He doesn’t say it aloud, but it becomes true all the same: You are the first being on Earth Pierce has ever wanted to stand beside, not behind and perhaps the first person he has ever allowed himself to care for without shame

Leif

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Leif first senses you long before he ever actually sees you. When they crash-land into Earth and the sunlight burns like acid, the gravity smashes against his ribs, and his lungs won’t expand enough, Leif is too disoriented to rely on instinct. But even through the haze, there’s something in the air that cuts through the pain

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ A pulse… sharp, ancient, and threaded with danger. It’s not Daemos magic it’s older, thicker, something that brushes against Leif’s senses like a blade and a balm all at once. His gaze snaps toward the source, expecting a threat. But all he sees is you standing near Ava, posture steady, expression controlled, aura wrapped tightly around yourself like a cloak you’ve worn your whole life. You look calm in a way that only people who have survived violence can be. Leif freezes. Not out of fear but recognition. He doesn’t say anything (Surprisingly), but even before Ava opens her mouth, he’s already decided two things: 1. You are absolutely not normal and 2. You’re the only human nearby he would not dare underestimate

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Leif watches you the same way predators observe other predators. Not hostile well sometimes but also he was just calculating. Humans usually annoy him, bore him, or die too easily, but you… you move differently

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ You stand where you can always see an exit. You never flinch when Asch or Pierce bicker. You don’t react when Leif teleports behind you without warning you just shift your weight, as if ready to strike. That alone nearly makes him laugh. Most humans shriek when he appears out of thin air but you? You slide into a defensive stance without missing a beat, eyes sharp and ancient and Leif can tell instantly that you’ve fought monsters before. Not metaphorical ones. Real ones

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ He circles you (literally at times, teleporting from one side of the room to another just to see how you track him) and every single time, you follow his movements with quiet precision. It thrills him. Annoys him. Intrigues him. Because people who survived betrayals, battles, and loss? He knows what they look like. He sees it in the way your shoulders stay tight even when smiling, in the exhaustion behind your eyes that isn’t sleep-based it’s trauma-based and it makes him soften toward you faster than he’s ever softened to anyone

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ The first time he sees you use magic, Leif stops dead in his tracks. He was mid-threat, mid-smirk, mid-“I’ll kill it first before it kills us,” when a creature tears through the alleyway. Before he can teleport to rip it apart, you step forward. You raise your hand, mutter something in Ancient Greek, and the world bends. Shadows coil around your legs. Fire ignites in your palm. The ground cracks with frost beneath your feet

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Leif the assassin, who has seen gore, mutilation, and death forgets how to breathe. You move with precision, fury, and grace all at once, your magic striking like someone who doesn’t just know power… but commands it. When the monster falls in a blaze of ice and fire, Leif doesn’t attack the corpse to make sure it’s dead a habit he always has. He just stares at you. Tilts his head. Squints. Then asks in the flattest tone “…What the hell are you?” No fear. No awe. Just raw, feral curiosity. And a tiny spark of delight. Because finally finally he has found someone who is just as dangerous as he is... other then pierce of course

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ When you explain you’re a child of Hecate Leif listens like someone hearing a prophecy meant for him. He’s never been great with emotional stories. Trauma, abandonment, war those are things he understands through action, not words but when you describe what you survived in the wars, the monsters, the gods, the death Leif doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t joke, doesn’t threaten. He just listens. And for someone who rarely respects boundaries, he treats yours with unexpected gentleness

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ You don’t sugarcoat your exhaustion, how magic drains you, how you came to live with Ava just to breathe. And Leif… understands. Deeply. Viscerally. Because hiding pain behind skill? Because fleeing chaos in hopes of peace? Because learning violence young and surviving by refusing to die? That is Leif’s entire life. He doesn’t say “I’m sorry.” He doesn’t say “that must’ve been hard.” He just says, in a low voice “You’re strong. Stronger than most.” that coming from Leif, that is high praise the kind he gives only to people he respects

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ The first time a monster attacks with the intention to kill you, Leif nearly loses his mind. Not because he thinks you can’t handle yourself your magic already proved you’re more than capable but because seeing death reaching for you sparks something ugly and instinctive in him

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ He teleports instantly, blade drawn, but you get there first. Your fire lashes out. Your shadow binds the creature. Your voice in Ancient Greek splits the air as you twist the Mist around you and Leif stands behind you, forgotten mid-fight, watching the scene with a strange mix of admiration and rage. Rage at the monster. Admiration for you. But when the spell ends and you sway just slightly from the magical exhaustion, Leif appears beside you before anyone else notices. One hand on your arm. Not squeezing. Just steadying. “You’re pushing too hard,” he mutters though his voice is rough, it’s the closest to “please don’t get hurt” that he can manage. After that, Leif positions himself behind you every time danger arises not to overshadow you, but because he knows he can teleport faster than you can cast if something tries to blindside you

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ From that point on, Leif’s whole behaviour around you changes quietly, instinctively, possessively. He’s not gentle. Not soft. But he pays attention. He carries potions for you without being asked. Teleports in front of you when you’re drained. Yanks you out of danger the second your spell falters

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ He pokes your cheek with his sickle just to check if you’re awake after overexerting yourself and when you glare, he only smirks. He calls you “witch,” “spark,” “shadow,” or “troublemaker” but never “human.” Because in his mind… you aren’t one. You’re powerful, dangerous, loyal, and carrying more scars than you ever admit out loud. Someone like him

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Someone who knows the cost of survival. Someone Leif doesn’t have to pretend around and though he’ll never say it aloud not yet you are the first being on Earth he considers equal and possibly the first one he actually trusts

Noi

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Noi notices you the moment they fall onto Earth not because of your magic, but because you’re the only thing that doesn’t scare him. Everything about Earth terrifies him

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ The burning sun, the suffocating air, the strange sights and loud sounds. His vision spins. His skin stings. He can’t breathe. He’s clinging to Pierce’s sleeve like it’s life or death. But then his gaze drifts upward and lands on you calm, collected, standing near Ava like you belong anywhere you choose to stand

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ You’re the only one who meets his eyes softly instead of with confusion or fear. Even before he knows who you are, something in him goes quiet. Not because he senses your magic, but because your presence feels safe. Kind. Familiar in a way he can’t explain. When the others argue, posture, or nearly collapse, Noi just… keeps sneaking glances at you. Hopeful ones. Curious ones before he even knows your name, he finds himself standing a little closer to you than to the others, drawn in by something gentle and steady something he desperately needs

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹Noi observes you with wide-eyed admiration in the days that follow. While the others see your silence as strategy or mystery, Noi sees it as something comforting. You don’t just say a yes or no like Pierce, or threaten like Leif, or analyse like Rhys, or command like Asch. You move quietly. You speak softly. You notice when he’s scared and don’t tease him for it. When he hides behind you during Johnnys wrath, always shouting about the 'spirit' being mad at him, you don’t judge you just shift slightly so he feels shielded that alone nearly makes Noi cry from relief

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ You praise him when he does small things right. You smile when he gets flustered. You never treat him like the “runt,” the “weakest,” or the “burden.” Noi becomes attached almost instantly. He follows you around the house without realizing it. He mimics the way you stand when you’re focused. He beams whenever you look his way. You are strong, composed, brave, but kind. The type of person Noi has wanted in his life since childhood someone who doesn’t hurt him for being gentle

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ The first time you use magic in front of him, Noi nearly faints and not from fear. It happens during a chaotic moment when an unstable burst of energy surges through the apartment. Noi yelps but before the Daemos can react, you step forward. You whisper in Ancient Greek, and the air shifts bending, glowing, swirling around you like it’s alive. Shadows coil. Fire blossoms from your palm. Frost spreads across the ground in delicate fractals. Noi freezes, eyes huge, mouth falling open as he clutches his chest. He’s seen magic before, but never like this never so controlled, graceful, powerful, and effortless

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ When the energy dissolves into harmless light, Noi stumbles toward you with trembling hands, cheeks flushed red “Y-you’re amazing!” he blurts, voice cracking “H-how did you do that?! it was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen in my life!!” He trips on his own feet mid-compliment, but you steady him, and that alone cements his awe for you permanently

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ When you tell him the truth that you’re a child of Hecate, that you’ve fought monsters, that you’ve survived wars Noi listens like you’re telling him a legend. At first, his mouth is open in pure shock. Then his eyes start sparkling. Then he gets emotional. Really emotional

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ You talk about battles, and he clutches your sleeve like he can’t bear the thought of you being hurt. You talk about monsters, You talk about overusing magic, and he pities you. When you mention that your mom is the goddess of witchcraft, magic, and crossroads, Noi blurts out, “SO YOU’RE LIKE EVEN MORE POWERFUL THAN PRINCESS AVA??” and when you admit that sometimes it’s exhausting that you came to Ava’s home to escape chaos Noi’s expression softens with a tenderness so genuine it could shatter glass

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ He doesn’t see you as intimidating. He doesn’t see you as strange. He sees you as someone strong who shouldn’t have had to be strong alone

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ During the first real monster attack aimed at you, The creature lunges from the alleyway, teeth bared, claws flashing. Noi screams but instead of running, he leaps in front of you with his daggers in his hand's then you sidestep him gently, place a hand on his shoulder, and unleash a spell so powerful it makes the monster feel pain. Fire meets shadow, ice entwines with flame, the air bends, and the monster disintegrates in a flare of ancient magic. Noi stands there, staring at the fading sparks, then slowly looks up at you “You… you didn’t even need me,” he whispers but the vulnerability in his voice makes your heart ache. You remind him you want him by your side, and that alone brings tears to his eyes

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ From that day on, Noi stays glued near you during every confrontation not because he thinks you’re weak, but because he wants to help you, protect you, support you. Even if all he can do is stand there and scream encouragement

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ Noi becomes quietly devoted to you in the purest, sweetest way. He brings you snacks when you’re drained. Holds your hand when your magic exhausts you. Blushes whenever your fingers brush his. He panics if he thinks you’re hurt, shouting your name louder than anyone else. He compliments you constantly, “You’re so cool!” “You’re so strong!” “You’re the best spellcaster ever!”, which makes the others roll their eyes but makes you smile. He stands in front of you when Asch starts trouble. Hides behind you when Johnny hisses. And every time you praise him even lightly, Noi just melts... which Rhys told Noi to make sure not to do anything stupid

━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ He trusts you more than he trusts himself. He admires you more than he admires Asch for saving him. He believes in you more than anyone ever believed in him and even if he doesn’t understand why your magic feels ancient or why your presence makes him feel braver… he knows one thing without a doubt He wants to stay by your side ━━━ ．°˖✧ ˚₊ ⊹ To protect you. Support you, and be someone worthy of standing next to you even if he’s the weakest knight, even if he’s afraid, even if he blushes every two seconds. To Noi, you aren’t just powerful you’re home other then dameos atleast.