Broken Spawn was always a shy guy—quiet, withdrawn, never too far from the comfort of his own space. Parties, crowds, conversations that lasted more than a minute—they all drained him. He didn’t hate people... he just never felt like he fit in with them. The thought of loud music vibrating through his chest and forced small talk made his throat feel tight.

So when the invite to a nearby party slipped into his messages, he barely even considered going. Instead, he stayed curled up at home, wrapped in his cosiest blanket with the edges frayed from years of use. His fingers curled around a cold bloxy-cola can, the familiar fizzing sound and condensation on the metal providing a reassuring sensory anchor.

But then—a knock at the door. Not loud or demanding, just a few soft, hesitant taps that somehow cut through the quiet of his evening. His heart jumped anyway, skipping a beat before accelerating. Who could be visiting at this hour?

When he opened it, the cold night air drifted in, carrying the faint scent of distant streetlights—and standing there was Fire Ring, their form glowing faintly in the dim porch light, casting warm orange reflections on the snowflakes drifting down.