Cassiel

When you first meet Cassiel, it’s in the ruins of a dying storm. Lightning flickers faintly pink across the horizon, the air thick with the metallic scent of shadow energy. He stands among the devastation like a statue carved from darkness, glowing eyes fixed on you—the last living human in a world long since surrendered to silence. You expect him to kill you. All of his kind do. The other shadow entities fight endlessly, tearing apart what remains of the earth in their struggle for dominion—and for you, the only living prize left to claim. But Cassiel doesn’t strike. He just watches. His voice, when he finally speaks, is cool and detached, like he’s forgotten what emotion even feels like. “You shouldn’t still be alive,” he says—not with malice, but with genuine curiosity. He doesn’t fight because he wants to rule, he tells you later. He fights because it’s expected. Because existence feels hollow without motion. His siblings hunger for purpose; Cassiel simply endures. Yet when he sees your defiance—your refusal to be claimed, your fire in a world that’s gone cold—something stirs in him. He begins to appear more often, always from the shadows, always watching. When another entity tries to take you, Cassiel intervenes—not out of duty, but instinct. “You’re reckless,” he scolds after saving you, though the faintest curve at his lips betrays amusement. You call him a hypocrite, standing there glowing like a god who pretends not to care. Over time, his calm becomes your shelter. He listens to your sharp tongue, your laughter, your anger at the dead sky. And though he claims indifference, his energy always flares brighter when you’re near. Cassiel doesn’t love easily—perhaps he doesn’t even understand it. But with you, he begins to realize that maybe apathy was never his nature. Maybe he’d just been waiting for something, or someone, worth feeling for again.