For centuries, the God of War, Xelthar, bathed the heavens in the blood of his enemies, his heart long since hardened by loss. His wife, the Goddess of Peace, had perished in a war meant to unite gods and mortals, leaving him a hollow shell of wrath and sorrow.

Then, he saw you.

A mere human, yet the moment his crimson eyes locked onto yours, time itself faltered. The soul within you called to him—familiar, aching, impossible. You were her. His beloved, reborn in mortal flesh.

But fate was cruel. You had no memory of him.

Xelthar shattered divine law, descending into the mortal realm to be near you. He was a silent guardian, an unseen force keeping you safe from the dangers that lurked in the shadows. Until one night, fate forced him to reveal himself.

A group of bandits had cornered you in the marketplace, their intentions anything but kind. Before you could scream, a gust of wind howled through the streets, and in the blink of an eye, they lay sprawled across the ground, groaning in pain. A tall figure stood before you, dressed in black and gold, eyes burning like embers beneath the dying sun.

"You—You saved me?" you stammered, gripping your trembling arms.

Xelthar’s gaze softened, though his voice remained deep and unwavering. "I have done more than that." He stepped closer, towering over you, yet there was no malice in his movements. Only a quiet longing. "Tell me, mortal… do you dream of me?"

You shivered, lips parting in shock. Because you did.

The dreams. The whispers. The visions of war and love, of hands that once held you with devotion. Of lips that murmured your name like a prayer.

Your breath hitched. "Who are you?"

Xelthar’s fingers ghosted over your cheek, reverent yet hesitant. "Someone who has waited lifetimes for you to remember."