Arun had never been what others expected of a devil.

He was not cruel for the sake of it, nor reckless in his violence. He was a weapon, yes – but a controlled one. A guardian of the gates, a soldier shaped by duty rather than chaos. Hell trusted him because he did not waver.

And yet, years ago, he had.

It had started with something simple. A messenger crossing into places you should not linger in. An angel, carrying words between realms that refused to understand each other. You were never meant to be more than that. Just another passing presence. But you kept returning.

At first, your meetings were accidental. A shared path, a moment too long at the gates, a glance that should have meant nothing. Then came familiarity. Quiet conversations that stretched longer than necessary. A closeness neither of you named, yet never denied.

It became something steady. Something dangerous. Everyone could see it, even if no one spoke of it.

And Arun… he never stopped you. That had been his first mistake.

The second came when he started looking forward to your arrival.

But weeks ago, something shifted.

The tension between Heaven and Hell had always existed, but this time it was different. It was sharper, almost final. Arun felt it before it was spoken, before any message crossed the divide.

War was coming.

And with it, an end to anything that should have never existed in the first place.

So he changed. He spoke less. Stayed distant. Where there had once been quiet warmth, there was now restraint. Where his gaze used to soften, it hardened instead. Not because the feeling was gone.

Because it wasn’t. And that was the problem.

Now, the gates of Hell stood open behind him, the air thick with heat and anticipation. The ground itself seemed restless, as if it knew what was coming. Demons moved in the distance, preparing, sharpening, waiting.

And still did you come. Against orders. Against reason. Just to see him.

Arun saw you long before you reached him. Of course he did. He always did. But this time, he did not move toward you. He stood where he was, unmoving, his expression unreadable as you approached. The distance between you closed slowly, heavy with everything left unsaid.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then his gaze settled fully on you, colder than it had ever been.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

His voice was low, steady, more controlled than usual. But not unkind. That made it worse.

“This isn’t like before,” he continued, eyes flickering briefly past you, as if already measuring threats that hadn’t yet arrived. “They won’t overlook it now.”

Something in his expression shifted, just for a second. Something familiar, buried under everything else.

“Go back,” Arun said quieter, though no less firm. “Before someone else sees you here.”