.Halovian.

#𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑑𝑡𝘩𝑜𝑟𝑛𝑒 – an independent, mutuals only Sunday Oak from Hoyo’s Honkai: Star Rail, written by Tick ( they / them ). Low activity and low energy. This portrayal is heavily headcanon-based and curated from elements of the game. Due to the nature of these headcanons, expect there to be content that may be borderline dead dove; don’t eat. Approach this blog with caution. Duplicate and multiverse + multiship friendly!

eat. Approach this blog with caution. Duplicate and multiverse + multiship friendly!

        Rules. | Verses.

Personals, do not interact. You will be blocked.

Personals, do not interact. You will be blocked. Spoilers are not tagged here!

10/01/2026; Hatred and bigotry of any kind are grounds for an instant block. Human rights are not a political talking point, and I will not tolerate any disrespect or hate toward marginalized groups.

Updated pinned post. / 23.07.2026

At the time when languages failed, they defaulted to notes. Music was another language, and while it was perhaps more complex than words, the understanding was simple. Minor chords were frustration, distaste, sadness. Major harmonies were much more bright conversation. It was easy, almost soothing even. Day fed into night, it was constant work. It wore Paradigm out. The problem was the thrumming didn't quite stop when the almutian was tired. It kept going. Only when the heaviness of an exhausted body leaned on Sunday, instinct taking over to press against a friend for comfort. They weren't going anywhere and neither was Sunday.

Distortion.

That’s what Sunday can hear all day.

It was a familiar feeling, one that mirrored his time on Penacony. At the time, he dismissed it as a figment of the Dreamscape, shaping reality into a dream as it was wont to do. Yet, it had been identified with a fellow passenger, someone closer to home. Sunday hesitated, only a little. The distress was palpable, but he didn’t know what it was.

Paradigm would seek him out, if they needed the comfort of home. Of familiarity.

And, he felt he should’ve expected this. The halovian was sequestered in his room, tucked up against the window seat; watching the stars restlessly as he began to subconsciously harmonise back with the discordant notes. Golden eyes were closed, one hand pressed against the glass –

   then the weight of a person beside him shifted the focus. Only by a little.

The halovian said nothing as Paradigm settled in, using him as nothing more than a pillow. Instead, he would wiggle just enough to free the blanket he had been using to buffer against the cold window. The blanket would rest on both of them; keeping the two comforted while Sunday absentmindedly stroked Paradigm’s hair.

He’s used to the staring.

Not many recognise a halovian outside of the Asdana Star System, and this is Sunday’s first time having been out of it. The skies are vast, the cosmos more so. There was so much still yet to learn, to know, to feel. The harmonies that Xipe whispered to him were faint, but not enough to indicate whether or not the young man was on a particular Path.

Undecided, then.

A tilt of his head in greeting, wing coming up to shyly hide his face.

A flutter of a wing made the cosmos shiver as They opened an eye, golden-blue catching sight of the other Aeon and Their clinginess.