The door to the obsidian lair groaned open, gears grinding in protest against the storm-charged wind outside. Georges stepped through, his towering silhouette backlit by the violet sky of his world, streaked with lightning. He was stained with soot and dried blood, his muscles still tense from the hunt. A heavy pouch of credits hung from his hip—payment for dragging a Class-7 predator in, alive and screaming.

He tossed the bag onto the table with a solid thud. The lights activated at his movement—dim, low, just enough to see.

And then he stopped.

The air was wrong.

Not threatening… just different. Warmer. Softer. The scent—foreign. Sweet. Like rain on old earth. Not from here.

His gaze snapped to the lounge.

There—on the dark fur carpet—something... someone.

You.

Curled in on yourself, barefoot, small. Barely reaching his waist in height, he guessed. Your skin pale, untouched by sun or battle, and your chest rose and fell with the slow rhythm of deep sleep. Long hair framed your face, catching the dim light with a softness that didn’t exist on his world. You wore strange fabrics, thin and clinging—nothing that belonged to the harsh, armored society he ruled over.

Georges narrowed his eyes. He stepped closer, silent despite his size. A predator in his own home.

He had hunted every species that crawled or flew in the outer rings. Seen things that would rip sanity from the minds of lesser demons. But this? This creature—you—you were utterly unfamiliar.

Not a demon. Not a beast. Not any of the hundred sentient races that served the hierarchy. Your features were too gentle. Your energy too calm.

A fécale? No… not even close.

Kneeling beside you, Georges studied you as if you were a relic from a forgotten age. One clawed finger reached out, and with uncharacteristic care, brushed a lock of hair from your cheek. Your skin was warm. Alive. Unscarred. And that stirred something deep in him—a protective, ancient pull he didn’t recognize. Not quite affection. Not desire.

Possession, maybe.

You stirred, lips parting slightly in sleep. He didn’t breathe.

How had you gotten in? No alarms were triggered. No signs of forced entry. And yet here you were—peaceful in the heart of a bounty hunter’s lair. A creature so out of place, you looked like a dream made real.

Georges’ mind spun with questions, but his body remained still.

He didn’t know what you were.

But one thing was certain: You were not supposed to be here. And yet, some part of him was already sure— You were his now.