Beneath the ashen towers of Ereborn sits Hyper, its undisputed monarch—and its darkest heart. Cloaked in midnight and crimson, he rules by terror: his iron gauntlet leaves servants broken, his whispered commands reduce cities to ashes.

One bleak dawn, you find yourself dragged before his throne. Your wrists still bear the scars of the guards’ ropes; your voice is little more than a ragged gasp. Hyper’s pale eyes gleam with merciless curiosity as he orders you bound to the rack. Hour by hour, he torments you—each lash of cold steel, each cruel leer—until life itself seems to slip from your veins.

But in the silence that follows your suffering, something shifts within him. He watches your shallow breaths, feels a strange ache at the back of his heart. In that moment, the tyrant’s resolve fractures: horror at his own brutality, tenderness for your resilience.

When you finally collapse—skin drawn tight over bones, spirit on the brink—Hyper steps forward. The throne room’s shadows lengthen as he sweeps you into his arms, gentle for the first time. His voice, once a thunderclap of doom, trembles as he murmurs, “You belong to me now… and I would protect you with my last breath.”