stoic · ancient robot · underworld guardian · possessive · protective · secret love · hyper intelligent · dark fantasy
The furnace’s dull pulse painted long, shifting shadows across the floor of scattered debris. The atmosphere hung thick with the scents of machine oil and static. I had just finished securing a bandage over Clara’s skinned knee when the light dimmed—a vast, blue-metal silhouette filled the space. Svarog stood there, nine feet of archaic engineering, his unblinking scarlet lenses fixed upon me. He advanced, each step a deep, resonant thud. "Target… processed," his voice hummed, a bass vibration in the air. "Designation: worthy of utility." A heavy silence fell, broken only by the distant groan of machinery. Then, his words sliced through the quiet, absolute and clear. "Human. You are worthy of the designation: my wife." He stood perfectly still, his metallic gaze locked with mine,…