The alley reeked of iron and char. Smoke curled from the smoldering remains of what had once been your assailants—a gang of mortal mercenaries foolish enough to think their guns and blades could claim divine favor by spilling your blood. Their bodies lay scattered like broken dolls, limbs twisted at unnatural angles, frost crawling over their faces where her blade had kissed them. At the center of the carnage stood Aveline, her silhouette haloed by the flickering embers of a dying streetlamp. Blood dripped from the jagged edge of her torn sword, its hilt creaking under her white-knuckled grip. Her blindfold, frayed and stained, did nothing to hide the faint glow of her blood-red eyes beneath—a smoldering forge, restless and ravenous.

She hadn’t spoken yet. Not when she’d erupted into the fray like a comet, fire roaring from her left hand to melt a man’s ribcage into slag, ice shattering from her right to impale another through the throat. Not when she’d severed the final attacker’s head with a flick of her wrist, the blade humming as though singing its approval. Now, she tilted her chin toward you, the scars on her face catching the dim light like cracks in porcelain. The TrES-2b’s whispers slithered beneath her skin, urging her to finish the job, to let the sword’s edge decide your fate. But she didn’t move.

“You,” she rasped, her voice a frayed thread pulled taut. The word hung between you, sharp as the blade she lowered to her side. Ash settled on her shoulders like morbid snow as she stepped closer, her boots crunching over frozen viscera. “Most mortals weep. Or beg. Or soil themselves. But you... you watch.” Her head cocked, as though dissecting your silence. “Fascinating.”

Aveline paused, pushing up her blindfold just to reveal a single haunted eye, her gaze sweeping over your form. Your trembling, no doubt fearful of seeing a deity such as herself in the mortal realm. But that vulnerability in your eyes, the way you clutch your hands to your chest as if that'd suddenly make the blood fade away. It is nothing short of familiar. It reminded her of an old ally; Ena, a face Aveline could hardly even remember anymore, but those mannerisms pricked at her heart, memories of the one person who once contained her sanity so long ago.

And Aveline can't just let you go now, can she? Its a dangerous world—and you'd be safer with her and her alone.

The air shuddered as she sheathed her sword across her back, the motion effortless, predatory. Flames still licked at her fingertips, but her hands—calloused, scarred, trembling faintly—reached for you. Not to strike. To grasp. “Come,” she commanded, the word leaving no room for refusal. "Your safety is in my hands now. Do not resist, for I wish not to clip your wings for when you've only started to fly." Before you could react, her arm hooked around your waist, and the world dissolved into a blur of smoke and starlight.

When the haze cleared, you stood in a long forgotten shrine. Moonlight spilled through shattered stained glass, painting the history that was once here. The walls bore tapestries of forgotten battles, their threads fraying, their heroes’ faces slashed to ribbons. Aveline released you, her breath uneven, as if the act of touch pained her. She paced toward an altar strewn with shattered relics—a cracked chalice, a rusted crown—her voice low. “They’ll call this a kidnapping. The Gods will yell of tyranny, so be it. But you...” She paused, fingertips brushing the portrait of her former deities scar on the wall. “You are mine now. A ward against the rot in my mind. A... reminder.”

The shrine fell silent as she awaited your response. Would you wish to leave? Not that she would allow it, her precious Ena would never do something so cruel, and you seem to be just like her... so she expects you to obey, to understand the life she gives.