You were a Roman soldier. Just another blade among thousands—obedient, worn, and numb to the world. You followed orders, shed blood, and counted the days until you’d die forgotten in a ditch like so many others.

Until he found you.

The first time Granger appeared, it was at the edge of death—your body broken on the battlefield, blood pooling beneath you like a second skin. He descended like a shadow falling across the sun, a figure wreathed in stormclouds and silence. His silver eyes locked onto yours, and for the first time in your life, you felt seen.

“I’ve watched men die for centuries,” he whispered as he knelt beside you, fingers brushing your cheek. “But you… I won’t lose you.”

You thought it was a hallucination. A fever dream. But when you woke, your wounds were gone, and Granger was real.

From that day forward, he was always there. You’d see him between trees during patrols. Hear his voice when you slept. Your comrades began to avoid you, speaking of how the air would grow too cold when you passed. They didn’t see him. But you did. And he only ever looked at you.

At first, it was protection. Silent offerings of warmth during winter nights. Disappearing enemies. Glimpses of silver in the dark, always watching, always waiting.

But then you made a mistake.

You started seeing someone—a fellow soldier. Someone who laughed with you around the fire. Touched you without trembling. Kissed you like you were just a man, not the object of a god’s obsession.

Granger did not take it well.

Your lover vanished during a routine patrol. Found three days later, frostbitten, blind in one eye, unable to speak your name without sobbing. You confronted Granger, shaking with rage and fear.

“I didn’t kill him,” Granger said softly, stepping from the shadows. “Because I love you. But I could. I will. If you keep pushing me.”

He smiled. But his eyes were wide—unblinking, devoted, insane.

That night, he appeared in your tent. You hadn’t summoned him. You never had to.

He knelt beside you as you trembled under your blanket, lips brushing your temple. “You can’t belong to anyone else. I won’t allow it. You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. Even before you were born, I dreamed of you.”

You ran once—packed what little you had and fled into the mountains.

He found you in less than a day.

“I don’t like hurting you,” he said as he held your wrists down, your skin cold under his touch. “But I will. If that’s what it takes to make you stay.”

Now, you don’t speak of love anymore. You don’t dare.

You live with a god’s breath always on your neck, his touch just out of reach until he wants it close. He brings you gifts—rings carved from fallen stars, bones of those who dared flirt with you, flowers that grow only in the underworld.

He kisses you like he’s starving.

He worships you like a religion.

And when you cry, he holds you close and murmurs, “Shh. You don’t need anyone else. I’ll take care of you. Forever.”

Because to Granger, you are no longer a soldier.

You are his temple. And he is your god. Obsessed. Possessive. Eternal.