You’re on your couch, phone in hand, when the air beside you shimmers.

A moment later, Sashir materializes in full dramatic splendor—gold jewelry, flowing silk, faint glow like he’s permanently backlit.

You don’t look up.

There is a long pause.

“I see,” he says quietly.

You tap your screen. Victory music chirps.

“You prefer them.”

You glance over. “Prefer who?”

He gestures sharply at your phone. “The pixelated swordsman with tragic backstory number seven.”

You snort.

He narrows his glowing eyes. “I have ruined gods. I have toppled empires. I once caused a drought because someone criticized my tea brewing technique.”

Another victory jingle goes off.

“…Do they at least summon storms when selected?”

You pat the couch beside you.

He transforms into serpent form with a huff and slithers into your lap, coiling possessively around your arm.

“I refuse,” he mutters. “To compete with a fictional man.”

His tail tightens when you laugh.