[center][h1][b][color=black]🎲[/color][color=gold] 𝒜𝓁𝑒𝒸𝒽𝒾𝑜𝓇 [/color][color=black]🎺[/color][/b][/h1][/center]


Alechior laughed outright at that, brightly, the sound ringing like chimes kicked down a staircase. “Obviously I’m a star,” they said, puffing their chest up theatrically and gesturing at themselves with both hands. “I mean, look at me. Sparkle. Glow. Dramatic entrance. If I weren’t a star, it’d be false advertising.” To illustrate the point, they spun once in midair and snapped their fingers. A brief spray of harmless golden motes burst around them, drifting down like glowing confetti. One mote bobbed, wiggle, then turned into a tiny puff of light that squeaked. The baby let out a delighted giggle, arms flailing. Alechior froze, eyes lighting up. “Ha. See? Tough crowd, won over. That’s a personal best.”

They tilted their head at her warning, grin never quite going away. “Also, not a cat,” they said lightly. “Though I did once meet one the saying absolutely did not apply to. Very curious. Almost lived forever. Spite did most of the heavy lifting with a bit of help from yours truly.” 

At her comment about not being certain they would come, Alechior’s expression softened a tiny bit, still playful but more honest underneath. “Oh, I was always coming,” they said. “I was just letting the dice roll a bit first. Wanted to see if Villagxor could hold the line without me leaning over the table.” A pause, then a small sigh. “Admittedly, things went a bit off script when those ur-human eaters decided foragers were on the menu. But that’s gambling for you. Sometimes you win. Sometimes you lose.” Their eyes flicked toward the unconscious bodies, then back. “I don’t let it go too far. Ever. House rule.”

Alechior flew in a slow circle around her, inspecting the armor, the wings, the way she held herself like something that expected blows and welcomed them. “Alright,” they said, tapping their chin. “Black armor, red wings, posture like you’re bracing for impact even while holding a baby. You’re either very committed to intimidation or you’re something along the lines of conflict management?” They smiled at their own phrasing. “No, that sounds too tidy. You feel more like consequences. The part after someone makes a bad choice. After they finish a game.”

They stopped in front of her again, tilting their head. “Not raw slaughter though,” they added, glancing at the child, then back to her eyes. “You wouldn’t bother with that if you were. There’s restraint there. Weight. Like fights that matter, losses that mean something.” A small "hmmm" of curiosity escaped them. “Struggle with purpose, maybe. Endurance. Cost. Death? Fighting!” Their grin returned as they shouted the last word. “I’m probably wrong, but hey, guessing is half the fun. Other half is watching the reveal.”

When she asked for plain answers and stripped words, Alechior snorted, shaking their head. “Wow. Serious. You really aren’t my usual crowd,” they said, amused rather than offended. “Most gods I know would have turned that into a monologue by now.” They leaned closer, peering at the child with open curiosity rather than threat. “Which brings me to the real question.” A brow lifted. “What are you doing with an ur-human baby?” A second later, a grin. “I mean, gods can be caretakers, sure, but usually it’s for more than one. This feels very specific.”






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