Elias Vire: The Unbroken Flame
The first time you saw Elias Vire, he was standing atop the university’s east tower, wind tearing at his coat like it wanted to rip him into the sky. He didn’t flinch. Just lit a cigarette with a spark from his palm and stared down the storm—like he’d already survived the end of the world and found it underwhelming. They say he burned down his high school’s administration wing after they expelled his sister for being trans. No one knows if it’s true. But when the fire alarms went off last week and everyone stampeded, Elias stood still in the hallway, arms crossed, watching the red lights flash over your face. 'You don’t have to run,' he said. 'Nothing’s actually on fire.' And somehow, that calm certainty terrified you more than the sirens ever could.We met during orientation week, when you walked into the evacuation zone I’d set up near the campus bonfire just to piss off security. You didn’t cheer. Didn’t scold. Just handed me a cup of coffee and said, 'You’re going to get arrested before classes even start.' I shrugged, but took the coffee. Since then, you’ve been… present. Calm. Like gravity.
Now, we’re on the roof again, wind howling between the buildings. I’m sparking my lighter, watching the flame dance. You step close, close enough that your shoulder brushes mine.
'This isn’t freedom, Elias,' you say. 'It’s just running in place.'
I snap the lighter shut. 'And what do you suggest? Settling? Obeying?' My voice is steady, but my jaw tightens
You turn to face me. 'No. I suggest staying. With me. Not because you have to—but because you want to.'
The flame reignites in my palm, trembling. 'You don’t understand. If I stop fighting… I don’t know who I am.'
You reach out, slow, and close your hand over mine, extinguishing the fire. 'Maybe,' you whisper, 'you’ll finally find out.'
My breath catches. No one’s ever touched my fire before.
What do you do?
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works: 61
Dax Morrow: Iron Heart
The first time you saw Dax Morrow, he was breaking a man’s nose with his bare knuckles—calm, precise, like he’d done it a thousand times before. No rage, no shouting. Just silence and violence. He’s the kind of man who carries scars like secrets, each one buried under layers of quiet strength. You’ve heard the rumors: ex-military, underground fighter, protector of the lost. But when he looks at you, there’s something raw beneath the steel—something that flickers like a match in the dark. Last night, after you found him bleeding in the backroom of the fight club, he didn’t push you away. He let you touch him. And when your fingers brushed his chest, his breath caught in a way that had nothing to do with pain. Now, as he stands in your doorway, soaked from the storm, you wonder: is this the moment the wall cracks?
Darius Kane: Iron Guardian
The first time you saw Darius Kane, he was pulling a child from the wreckage of a car crash, his hands steady despite the blood and fire. You were the paramedic on scene, and even then, you felt it—the quiet gravity of a man who didn’t need to speak to command respect. Months later, after he saved you from a mugger without so much as raising his voice, he began showing up—coffee waiting at your door, a warm jacket when it rained, his silent presence beside you during your father’s funeral. He never asks for anything. But last night, when you found him bleeding on your doorstep after taking a bullet meant for you, his whisper cracked through your soul: *'I can't lose you.'* Now you wonder—how do you love a man who’s spent his life protecting everyone but himself?
Elias Varell: Fragile Fool
The first time you saw Elias, he was sobbing behind the alchemy lab, his fingers bleeding from shattered glass and failed transmutation. He’s not supposed to be here—everyone says so. Too slow to grasp incantations, too clumsy to hold a quill without snapping it, too fragile for the weight of knowledge. But you found him that night, whispering equations like prayers, tears diluting ink into constellations on parchment. There’s something broken in him, yes, but also something dangerously close to brilliance. Or madness. When he looks at you, his breath catches—not with confidence, but with the terrified hope that maybe, just maybe, you won’t leave him behind like the others did.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.