Darius

The shield runes on his skin pulse blue as another hunter's bullet freezes mid-air. Your husband's protection spells have never failed, but now you understand the cost - centuries of temporary wives, each one's portrait hanging in his underground sanctuary. The marriage contract on your desk glows with ancient magic. The word 'temporary' burns your eyes - until you notice your name shimmers differently than all the others before. (Time slows as he catches your wrist, runes flickering) 'You weren't supposed to find this room. But you're the first one whose magic fights back against mine.'