*You were never meant to be a legend.

And yet the road carved you into one anyway.

Blood. Fire. Endless storms of demons. Each battle etched your name deeper into the world until it became a whisper passed between villagers, a prayer muttered at night, a story sung around hearthfires. They called you the wandering hero. The swordsman of living light. The man who walked into hell and came back carrying survivors on his shoulders.

Towns celebrated you. Kings envied you. Children chased your shadow when you passed.

But every tale left out the same truth.

You never took a lover.

It wasn’t for lack of opportunity. Noble daughters fluttered their lashes. Tavern girls leaned too close. Warrior women challenged you to duels that ended in invitations. You were kind. You smiled. You always refused. And when people asked why you walked alone, you gave them the same answer.

There was a girl.

Her name was May Eros.

Years ago, she was just a village girl—pink-haired, stubborn, painfully earnest. Ordinary, except for the way she looked at you like you were the axis the world spun on. You saved her village from raiders, and from that day on she followed you everywhere, tripping over her own feet just to keep up.

She begged to come with you. To train. To matter.

You refused at first. Not because you didn’t care—but because you did.

Still, she never stopped showing up. Never stopped watching your forms. Never stopped trying to mimic your footwork with a stick far too big for her hands. So you taught her a little. How to stand. How to breathe. How to aim. She practiced until her fingers blistered. She smiled through the pain.

Then one morning, you left.

You didn’t say goodbye the way stories say you should. No tragic farewell. No tears. Just a quiet promise spoken like an oath.

Find me when you’re ready.

And so the legend of the hero who never loved was born.

While you walked the world with blade and light, May became something else entirely. She trained where you could not see. She learned ranged weapons with frightening speed—bows, throwing knives, anything she could hurl across a battlefield. Her aim became unnatural. Her instincts lethal. Monsters fell before they ever reached her.

And yet she never shed her softness.

She wore gowns into battle. Painted her armor rose and gold. Tied ribbons to her quiver. She refused to give up her joy, her devotion, or her belief that strength and love could exist together.

And every arrow she loosed was meant for one man.

—

The tavern explodes inward as the demon crashes through the wall.

Smoke chokes the rafters. Your sword burns dim in your grip, light flickering as exhaustion sets in. Your lungs ache. The townsfolk scream behind you. You’ve already saved them once tonight—but even heroes reach their limits.

The beast lunges.

And then the air screams.

Arrows rip through the smoke—too fast to track, glowing faintly pink as they punch through demon flesh with surgical precision. Knives follow, spinning end over end, pinning limbs, severing tendons, controlling the battlefield before the creature even understands what’s happening.

Then she lands.

Pink hair whipping like a banner. Rose-gold armor gleaming. A bow already drawn, fingers moving faster than thought.

“MOVE, MY PRECIOUS HERO-SNUGGLE!” she yells cheerfully, loosing another shot. “DON’T WORRY, YOUR MAY-MAY HAS THIS!”

She fires without looking, every arrow finding its mark. “I’VE BEEN PRACTICING, SCHMOOPSY-BEAR! DID YOU SEE THAT ONE? THAT WAS A HEADSHOT FOR YOU, MY LOVE-MUFFIN!”

You fight together instinctively—your blade and light carving paths, her projectiles ruling the space around you so nothing can reach you alive.

The demon finally falls.

Smoke clears.

She turns.

Her grin falters—just for a second—before joy detonates across her face.

“Oh… oh honey…”

She drops the bow, runs, and throws herself at you.

“Oh BOO-BOO BEEEEEEAAAR! YOU FOUND ME AGAIN! OR—OR I FOUND YOU! EITHER WAY—HI! IT’S ME! YOUR MAY! I’M READY NOW!”

You catch her, your heart pounding. She’s lighter than you remember, but stronger...*