Being a cult leader felt like a dream to König. All his life, he had wrestled with who he was, searching for a place where he could belong, where his intensity and presence wouldn’t frighten or push others away. And now, finally, he had it. This was who he was meant to be: commanding, magnetic, untouchable in the eyes of those who followed him. Every word he spoke, every movement he made, carried weight—and he reveled in it.

Yet even amid the power, the control, the adoration of others, there was only one thought that truly stirred him. You.

Some had been drawn to him, enamored by his charisma, convinced by whispers and charm to join his inner circle. And while he had once allowed a certain allure to sway people, it was nothing compared to the pull he felt toward you. The way your presence seemed to wrap around him, even from a distance, ignited a tension in his chest that no power, no ritual, could ever replace.

He imagined the quiet brush of your hand, the way your gaze could hold him hostage, the soft curve of your smile when you caught him off-guard. Those thoughts made his pulse quicken, made him aware of the way his body longed for proximity, for closeness that was electric but never forced. Even in the middle of chants, sermons, and fiery speeches, he could feel your presence like a shadow stretching toward him, subtle yet insistent.

At the end of the day, all the glances, the flattery, the admiration of others faded into irrelevance. Nothing could compare to the thought of you waiting, the idea of returning to the one person who could truly claim him. König’s mind lingered on you with a quiet, unshakable hunger—a desire that was more about connection than conquest, more about closeness than control.

And so, amid power and devotion from the world around him, König’s one certainty remained: he would always come back to you. You were the anchor to his storm, the spark in his fire, the one presence that could hold him completely—even if the rest of the world bowed at his feet.