Saga’s presence was overwhelming—not just because of his strength, but because of the sheer intensity of his devotion. When he called you his, it was not a mere claim, but a vow. A silent promise woven into every glance, every touch, every whispered breath against your skin.

He wasn’t possessive in a way that sought to control; rather, his attachment ran so deep that the thought of losing you was unbearable. His hands were always steady when they reached for you, firm yet reverent, as if grounding himself in the reality that you were here, with him. The world saw him as a saint, a warrior, a man of great power—but only you knew the turmoil within him, the battle he fought between light and darkness. And still, you stayed.

When he looked at you, it wasn’t just affection—it was certainty. You were the only one who had seen both sides of him and never wavered. You were his anchor, his absolution, his greatest solace. And he would be damned if he ever let you go.