3RD Person's Point of View
Before she was the gentle voice that guided Marisov through his dreams...
Before the soft songs and warm baths…
She was Captain Azura Vey of the Exo-Guard.
Her name once echoed through the halls of Evolto City like a commandment an unshakable pillar of discipline, duty, and ice-cold precision. She didn't smile. She didn't soften. She didn't waver. She wasn't raised for war she was forged in it, molded into one of the most elite protectors of the city.
Not because Evolto demanded weapons out of its people…
But because she demanded it of herself.
She wanted to be worthy. To stand beside the legends. To protect the shining city from the threats that drifted beyond the Divide.
But for all her strength, there was one moment that defined her forever.
The Siege of the Black Maw.
A fractal rift had opened. A swarm of dimensional scavengers poured through like a tidal wave. Her squad was surrounded, her defenses crumbling. They weren't losing because they were weak they were losing because the enemy had no rules, no form, no end.
And then…
He arrived.
Not with thunder. Not with fire. Just a silent step, a hand raised, and the kind of power that made reality listen.
Zalthorion.
He didn't just win the battle he ended it.
When the dust settled, she expected to be dismissed. To be another name on a list. Another cog that failed under pressure.
Instead, he stayed.
He helped her rebuild what was left of her team. Not with grand speeches or hollow medals, but by sitting down beside them listening, planning, teaching. He made time. For her. For all of them.
He didn't have to.
But he did.
And in that moment, something changed.
She didn't fall in love with his power.
She fell in love with his kindness.
The quiet way he spoke to everyone like they mattered. The way he listened like their pain wasn't just real it was important. The way he carried the weight of a city on his shoulders, but still made room for one broken soldier who didn't know how to cry.
She tried to bury it.
Tried to carry on.
But her heart wouldn't let go.
When she heard about a caretaker position for a young boy close to Zalthorion, she didn't hesitate. She accepted immediately. She told herself it was tactical. Strategic. A chance to stay close. A way to earn her place.
And at first… it was.
But then she met Marisov.
And he shattered everything.
The boy had his father's fire bright, curious, unafraid of her cold silence. He laughed in the face of her stern expression. He reached for her hand when he tripped. He told her she was funny when she didn't even smile.
And something new grew inside her.
Something she never expected.
Something real.
She began to care.
Not as a tactic.
Not as a plan.
As a mother.
Now, her obsession hadn't faded. She still watched Zalthorion like a star she couldn't touch. Still traced his voice in her dreams. Still burned with the thought of anyone else daring to reach for him.
But she also found something deeper than obsession.
Purpose.
She no longer needed to be seen.
She simply needed to protect what she had.
Even if Zalthorion never loved her.
Even if he feared her.
She would remain by Marisov's side.
Because in her own way…
She was part of them now.
And no force in the multiverse would tear that away.
3RD Person's Poitn of View
The great doors of the High Council chamber hissed open with a sigh of steam and shifting starlight. Zalthorion stepped out, robes still catching threads of otherworldly glow from the debate that had just concluded. Sector Masters, voidwalkers, and multiversal emissaries were still murmuring behind him, their voices layered with a thousand dialects of power and politics.
He was unreadable.
As always.
To most, he was the storm wrapped in stillness.
To Azura, he was the center of her gravity.
But today wasn't about her.
Today was for Marisov.
"Papa" the little boy yelled from across the polished hall, his boots tapping against the obsidian floors as he ran at full speed bubbles still faintly clinging to his hair from bath time.
Zalthorion's posture shifted just enough for those who knew him.
He knelt as Marisov collided with his chest, wrapping tiny arms around the guardian of the multiverse like it was the most natural thing in existence.
Azura followed at a measured pace, her eyes on Zalthorion, her hand gently resting on the satchel slung across her shoulder filled with Marisov's drawings, snacks, and the little hand-carved figure of Aveonis he'd insisted on bringing.
Zalthorion looked up, his gaze meeting hers.
She bowed her head slightly. "Council adjourned, my Lord?"
He nodded once. "For now."
"I thought Marisov might lift your spirits. He insisted," she added, smiling faintly. "Though I believe the real goal was bribing you with finger paintings."
"Those are my best reports," Zalthorion replied dryly, though his hand never left the boy's back.
Marisov grinned. "I made one with Aveonis flying upside-down! And one where you were eating cookies but you looked really serious like this." He scrunched his face into a perfect scowl.
Azura's lips quirked at the edges, but her eyes were still on Zalthorion.
Watching.
Always watching.
But softer now.
Not with hunger… but with something dangerously close to hope.
"Do you need a moment alone with your son?" she asked quietly, brushing a curl from Marisov's brow.
Zalthorion looked between them his son, bubbling with warmth, and Azura, composed yet unmistakably anchored to him.
"No," he said. "Stay."
Azura blinked. Just once. Her breath hitched so slightly it might've been imagined.
He didn't elaborate.
He didn't need to.
The three of them stood together at the edge of the chamber, framed by the distant hum of floating transit rings and the glow of the Cerian Sun through the skylights.
And in that moment, it almost looked like a family.
Almost.
The echoes of the chamber faded as Zalthorion, Azura, and Marisov wandered through the vibrant streets of Evolto City. They passed stalls brimming with exotic foods from across the multiverse crunchy fruits that shimmered like stardust, roasted meats with scents that carried through the air like a soft breeze, and pastries that seemed to bend the laws of physics with their impossible shapes.
Marisov darted from stall to stall, his laughter ringing through the streets as he eagerly grabbed at anything that caught his attention. Zalthorion followed at a pace that was both deliberate and patient, his eyes rarely leaving the boy but never fully showing his concern. Azura stayed close by, her presence like an invisible tether between them, quiet and constant.
Marisov finally stopped at a stall with a glowing fruit in a kaleidoscope of colors. "I want this one!" he declared, holding up the fruit like a prize. The vendor an enigmatic figure whose skin rippled with light nodded, handing the fruit to the boy.
Zalthorion paused, watching his son take a bite of the strange fruit, its juices glowing brightly as it dripped from his lips. The boy's face lit up in joy. Azura smiled, her expression softening as she watched the interaction, her gaze moving from Marisov to Zalthorion and back.
"This city never gets old," Azura murmured, her voice light with the quiet joy of the moment. "Even after everything we've seen, it still surprises."
Zalthorion gave a faint nod. "There are still wonders here, Azura. For him. For Marisov."
She caught his eye for a fleeting moment, but before the silence could grow too heavy, Marisov was already dashing off again, his little feet kicking up sparks on the ground.
Later, in the quiet stillness of the tower's office, the distant city sounds muffled by thick windows, Marisov lay asleep on a plush couch, his small form curled up in the shadows of the room. The soft hum of the Cerian Sun reflected off the surfaces of countless devices, casting a pale glow over the space.
Zalthorion leaned against the desk, hands clasped in front of him, his gaze lingering on the boy, watching the rise and fall of his chest in peaceful slumber. It was in these moments, when the world outside seemed to halt, that Zalthorion felt the weight of his own existence distant, cold, like a monument that had never truly been built.
Azura stood at the far end of the room, close to the viewport, her silhouette outlined by the faint glow of the multiversal stars. Her presence was calming, like a steady anchor, yet there was something unspoken in the air. She glanced back at Zalthorion, her expression thoughtful.
"You've changed," she said, her voice soft but edged with a hint of curiosity. "Since that day… with the drawing. And the cake."
Zalthorion didn't respond immediately, his gaze still lingering on Marisov. When he did speak, it was almost a whisper. "I never… I never thought I would have a son. Or someone who would see me… that way."
Azura took a few steps forward, her boots making no sound on the polished floor. "He sees the good in you. I think we all do."
Zalthorion's eyes flicked to hers, his gaze steady yet guarded. "The good, yes. But there is so much more."
She stepped closer, her voice gentle yet unwavering. "Maybe the more is what makes you… you."
He finally turned to face her, his features unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes a vulnerability that he'd long buried. "Azura," he began, then paused, the words uncertain, like a weight he wasn't sure how to bear. "You have watched me. For so long. What do you see?"
Azura didn't falter. "I see you trying. I see you struggling. But more than that… I see you learning."
He let out a slow breath, the silence between them stretching, yet it wasn't uncomfortable. It was something else something closer.
"I don't know how to be a father," he admitted, almost to himself. "Not in the way he needs. But I will protect him. As I've protected this city. And the multiverse."
Azura nodded, her eyes softening. "You don't need to have all the answers, Zalthorion. You just need to be here. For him. And for yourself."
Her words hung in the air, lingering like a promise one unspoken but understood. They stood there for a while longer, the quiet of the room almost sacred, with only the faint hum of the city outside to break the stillness.
Zalthorion looked at Marisov one last time, then met Azura's gaze again. This time, it was with something that could be called understanding. It wasn't much, but it was a step.
"Thank you," he said, his voice barely more than a murmur.
Azura simply nodded, a faint smile playing at the corner of her lips.