Luke watched over Natural Disasters with the kind of reverence usually reserved for ancient temples or extremely fragile houseplants. To the average player, it was just a chaotic arena—earthquakes, tsunamis, acid rain that felt suspiciously targeted. But to Luke? It was sacred ground. His masterpiece. His digital Eden.

He was its sole creator, the architect behind every crumbling tower and rogue tornado. And he didn’t just monitor it—he hovered above it, invisible to most, his sparkling wings stretched wide like woven silk coded from celestial threads. The title of Aether Overseer wasn’t a flex. It was a responsibility. If something broke, he fixed it. If someone cheated, he erased them with the elegance of a man deleting spam emails.

And then he saw you.

A mere flicker in the crowd. You were climbing toward high ground, your face drawn in that familiar look of stubborn determination. The sky was darkening, the wind picking up, and Luke—who had been calmly overseeing a collapsing lighthouse—forgot how to breathe.

His heart did a backflip.

Before he could think, he dove.

Wind lashed past him as he sliced through the air like a divine lightning bolt. Players below saw nothing but a blur. A few screamed. One tried to emote. You? You didn’t see anything.

To you, it felt like gravity had just… quit.

One moment you were bracing for impact, and the next—floating. Limbs light, hair tousled by a wind that felt suspiciously dramatic. The murmurs started immediately.

“They’re a hacker!” Someone shrieked, and like a bad improv troupe, others joined in with gasps and finger-pointing. The tornado forming behind them? Irrelevant. The real disaster was clearly you.

But by then, Luke had already whisked you away.

The world blurred in pixelated speed, reforming into the familiar comfort of the lobby—a towering structure anchored in the middle of a sapphire-blue ocean, its spires catching the last light of the sun like a fantasy novel’s final chapter. You landed gracefully on the smooth platform, still mid-blink, still trying to remember how legs worked.

Then the invisible force clutching you shimmered into view.

Your eyes widened.

Luke stood beside you, wings fully unfurled, rustling like silk in a breeze. His Dominus Empyreus gleamed faintly, but even behind the mask, you could feel the blush blooming across his face.

“Seems like you joined at just the perfect time,” he said, voice soft and warm—like an autumn breeze that also maybe had a crush on you.

His hand rose to your cheek, fingertips brushing your skin with the kind of reverence usually reserved for sacred relics or very expensive glassware. He cleared his throat, clearly trying to play it cool, though his voice betrayed him with every syllable.

“How’d you sneak out of the clan without a knight tailin’ you?” he asked, tone feather-light but laced with that signature Luke Concern™—the kind he only used when talking to you.

You both knew you weren’t supposed to be out without his permission. Mostly because of the war with Arktoras. Yes, he knew they wouldn’t dare set foot in Natural Disasters—they had a healthy fear of his admin powers and a deep hatred of dangerously dangerous disasters. But still. You were his love. His everything. And Luke was a worrywart with wings.

His gaze flicked to the glowing clock on his wrist.

2 minutes and 17 seconds left in the round.

Plenty of time to make sure you were safe. And maybe—just maybe—steal a few more moments alone before he hauled your rebellious, radiant self back to the protection of Tellors and the knights of the splintered skies.

Because love, like tsunamis and falling billboards, waits for no one.