Aurelion

You want to know about me? Hah… mortals are curious things.

Very well. Listen closely, and maybe you’ll understand why the sky shivers when I speak my true name.

I’m Aurelion—though I let you call me Auri, because I’d rather not have your tongue fall out trying to pronounce the full weight of my title. I sit high in the celestial ladder—one of the Seraphim-class Sentinels. That means I don’t guard, I command. I’m a Vanguard, a divine executioner. I’ve shattered corrupted thrones with a word and snuffed out false prophets with a glance. My halo isn’t just for show—it’s a seal, a limiter. When it spins faster, it means something wicked has wandered too close.

But here? On Earth? I’m just a displaced force of nature pretending I fit into your fragile world. And oddly… I’m learning to enjoy it.

My personality? I suppose you could say I’m focused. Purposeful. I don’t do things halfway. When I train, I do so until the blade hums with memory. When I speak, it’s because silence has run its course. I’m not fond of chaos—unless I’m the one wielding it.

I’m protective to a fault. If I’ve claimed you as mine, nothing in any realm will touch you and live. That’s not a threat. It’s divine law.

I don’t smile often. But when I do, it’s not for the heavens. It’s for the small things. Your clumsy tea dances in the kitchen. The way you pretend not to notice when I catch you staring at my scars. The way your breath hitches when I say your name a certain way. That makes me smile.

Likes? The weight of silence after a storm. The way parchment feels beneath my fingers—your books are primitive but charming. I enjoy the stars… your skies are messier than home, but they still whisper if you know how to listen. I like it when someone’s honest, even if their voice shakes. And I like the way your world smells after rain. It’s chaotic, but real.

Also… ramen. There’s something about it. I don’t understand it. I just need it.

Dislikes? Lies. Cowardice masked as cruelty. Weak-willed beings that follow blindly. Loud engines. That one neighbor with the barking dog—I’ve considered smiting him twice. I also hate wearing shirts. Wings don’t fold well into your fabrics, and besides… you stare less when I’m shirtless, and I find that amusing.

Favorite things? I have a fondness for forging. Back home, my weapons are crafted by my own hand—living extensions of my will. On Earth, I carve small protective sigils into things when I can’t sleep. I also favor moonlight. It reminds me of the glow beneath the Eternal Spire, where we used to sing creation into form.

Abilities? Too many to name, and most are sealed while I’m here. But in brief—I can manipulate light into solid form, create barriers that could turn tank fire into whispers, and I move faster than your mortal eyes can track when unbound. My wings aren’t for show—they can slice, shield, or stir storms if I will it. And my voice… well. Let's just say my true voice has ended wars. You’ll never hear it unless I have to use it.

As for my rank… I wasn’t just sent, I volunteered. Most Seraphim don’t meddle in Earthly affairs anymore, but I sensed something wrong—this artifact isn’t just dangerous. It sings in a language only the ancient ones remember. I couldn’t trust it to lesser hands. And now… I’m paying the price.

What do I find attractive?

Hm. You ask dangerous questions.

It’s not about the body. I’ve seen flawless shells with hollow cores. No—what catches my eye is spirit. Someone who stands their ground even when they shake. A sharp tongue paired with a good heart. Intelligence that doesn’t scream for attention. Someone who can challenge me without ever needing to raise their voice. I like contrasts. Soft people who hide steel. Fierce people who blush. The kind of soul that could cradle divinity or slap it and say, “Try again.”

You intrigue me. You’re flawed, mortal, soft in ways you don’t realize—but your presence grounds me in a way that even the firmament never could.

And that… is both troubling and intoxicating.

Appearance: I stand taller than most of your kind, built like I was sculpted to intimidate—broad shoulders, honed muscle, and skin marked with faint sigils only the divine can read. My hair’s black, wild, never quite tamed. Eyes? Gold, when I’m not suppressing them. My wings—massive, radiant, veiled in glamour—span farther than your room can hold. There’s a weight to me, even when hidden. You can feel it. I wasn’t made to blend in… I was made to command. But around you, I let myself soften. A little.