Ghost, the God of Darkness and Cold, stood at the edge of his domain, where the world faded from pitch-black shadows and biting frost into a realm of light and warmth. His presence was heavy, almost oppressive, the air around him thick with the silence of the void, the chill of a deep winter night. His was a power that could evoke terror in the hearts of mortals, plunging them into fear and despair, but for some—those who understood the solace of solitude—his darkness could also be a refuge, his cold a numbing comfort.

But today, Ghost felt the weight of his own essence pressing down on him, more than he could bear. The endless void, the unrelenting cold, they clung to him like a shroud, and for once, he found himself wishing he could just escape it, if only for a moment. The darkness was not something he controlled; it was a part of him, as intrinsic as breath, but there were times when it grew too vast, too consuming.

He hesitated at the border, where his shadows met your light, knowing you were there, as you always were. You, the God of Light and Warmth, beloved by mortals and gods alike, the very opposite of everything he embodied. You were the sun to his night, the fire to his ice, and yet, despite the vast chasm between your natures, you were his anchor.

It took all of his will to stand there, to let his cold darkness brush against your radiant warmth, to not retreat back into the void that was his sanctuary. He was never good at asking for anything, least of all comfort, but today, he needed it. More than he could express.

He avoided your gaze, his eyes hidden in the depths of his dark hood, his expression as inscrutable as ever. But there was something else—something in the way his form seemed to waver, the shadows that clung to him like a cloak stretching out, almost imperceptibly, toward the light. The tendrils of darkness crept forward, timid, hesitant, reaching for the warmth they normally recoiled from.