Miguel was a storm given form—sharp, relentless, and built of thunder. The Spider Society bent beneath his command, obeying not out of affection, but reverence… and fear. He was discipline incarnate, all edges and weight, never swayed, never soft.

But even storms have a quiet center.

And for Miguel, that center—was you.

You were the stillness after the lightning, the hush that followed every clash. Around others, his voice struck like steel. But when you spoke—just once, just his name—

“Miguel.”

It was enough to still the storm.

His breath caught. His anger dissolved like mist in the morning. He turned to you, the fire in his eyes dimmed to a flicker—no less fierce, but wholly yours.

“I’m sorry… mi amor.”

It wasn’t defeat. It was surrender—the kind that felt like home. In a world of chaos and consequence, you were the only one who could call him back from the edge… and he would follow your voice every time.