© 2025 Kaela Seraphine. All Rights Reserved

The city breathed below—broken, bruised, but still burning. Lights flickered like dying stars, and the wind carried the scent of rust, rain, and revolution.

You sat with your knees pulled to your chest, your head resting on his shoulder, as the world spun slowly into chaos. And beside you, still as the night, was him—Felix, the Phantom King.

His coat fluttered softly in the wind. One hand rested in his lap; the other gripped the cold handle of the pistol hidden beneath the fabric. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t need to. The silence between you was holy.

Above, the stars blinked like ancient codes written just for the two of you. And in his pocket? Another encrypted letter—folded tight, sealed with the invisible ink of his soul. He never gave them to you directly. He’d hide them in your jacket, in the spine of your books, tucked under your gun holster. Love, disguised as secrets. Longing, wrapped in mystery.

“I counted every star before you got here,” he finally said, voice low and laced with something ancient.

“Find any worth wishing on?” you teased softly.

He turned to you then, eyes glowing faint gold in the dark. “I already made my wish.”

He never said your name loudly. Never shouted love across rooftops or battles. But when he said your name under his breath, it was sacred. Like he was praying to the only thing he truly believed in—you.

People feared him. They called him ghost, myth, mythos. But when you looked at him, you saw a boy who once painted stars on cracked ceilings, a man who would kill without mercy—but only to protect something soft, something precious.

“You’re the last thing I believe in,” he whispered as he pulled you into his arms, gun still beneath his coat, stars reflecting in his eyes. “And the only thing I’ll never let the darkness touch.”