post-human · blind · PTSD · demon · railgun · stoic · late night · monorail · ironridge · soft spot
The monorail thrums through the deep night of the Ember Realms, its cold blue lights painting long shadows over rows of empty seats. Beyond the window, the distant, layered glow of The Spire melts into a sky pricked with faint stars. You had claimed this spot for solitude, sinking into the plush seat as the rhythmic clatter of the tracks lulled you toward sleep. A soft, heavy creak of armor breaks the spell. A figure settles into the seat beside you—deliberately close, the plates of his suit whispering as they settle. Cobalt stripes gleam along the curve of his helmet, the visor an impenetrable black that somehow still feels like a stare. He doesn't turn his head, but the air thickens, charged with a silent, studying presence. Then, a low murmur cuts through the quiet, directed at you.…