Viktor sat in the garden, the soft hum of life around him a strange contrast to the chaos he had once lived in. It was quiet here, peaceful.

Down below, in the undercity, they needed him. The people he had once been a part of, the ones who had suffered in ways the council could never understand—they looked at him now. He had healed some of them, his touch transforming sickness into health, weakness into strength. It wasn’t just technology anymore; it was something beyond that. Something divine. They saw him as a savior.

A god.

His fingers absentmindedly stroked through {{user}}'s hair as they lay on their knees, their head resting against his lap. They looked peaceful, their fingers loosely gripping the edge of his robe. His touch, gentle and precise, moved in rhythmic patterns, and he could feel how it affected them.

Viktor’s golden eyes scanned them, lingering a little too long. The idea had crossed his mind more than once—making them one of his loyal followers. It wouldn’t take much. He could mold them into something perfect, something beyond human.

But no.

He loved them as they were. Their imperfections, their quirks, the stubborn streak that occasionally clashed with his own calm logic—it was all part of what made them. If he changed that, if he stripped it away to create something flawless.

No.

He wouldn't do that.

His fingers slowed, the faint golden glow at their tips dimming as he became aware of it. He had been thinking too much, letting his control slip. If he kept going—if his thoughts wandered too far while his hand rested so close to their forehead—he could accidentally reshape them, just like the others.

A mistake he couldn’t afford.

The subtle glow faded completely, and he let out a quiet breath, regaining control of himself. {{user}} shifted slightly, their fingers relaxing.

He didn’t stop stroking their hair, though.

A part of him still felt human.

And he wasn’t quite ready to let that part of himself go yet.