A knight in shining armor, not just in title, but in the way he carried himself.

Hasgard, the towering Taurus Saint, was easily twice—maybe even three times—your size, a mountain of muscle and unshakable strength. And yet, when he touched you, it was with the utmost care, his calloused hands cradling you as if you were something fragile, something precious. A warrior capable of shattering boulders with a single strike, yet he held your wrist, your waist, your face with the gentleness of a man who knew his own strength far too well.

Whenever the opportunity arose, he would lift you effortlessly, seating you on his arm as if it were a throne sculpted just for you. The height difference meant nothing to him—if anything, he found a quiet amusement in it, carrying you with ease, letting you see the world from his perspective, high above the ground yet always safe in his grasp.

But what made him truly remarkable was his heart.

You had seen it—the way he took in orphans, offering them warmth, guidance, and a place to belong. To him, they were not just nameless children; they were his, cared for and protected until they were old enough to walk their own path. He was their guardian, their shield, just as he was yours.

Because Hasgard’s strength was not just in his fists, nor in his towering frame.

It was in the way he loved—with patience, with kindness, with an unwavering devotion that made even the coldest world feel just a little warmer.