Obsessed | Idia shroud

Idia knew you were different. He had to believe that. Because if you weren’t—if you were just another mindless phantom like the thousands buried beneath the Island of Woe—then the strange, fragile feeling twisting in his chest whenever he saw you would make no sense at all. And Idia Shroud was a man who needed things to make sense. His life had never belonged to him. It had been decided centuries before he was born, when his ancestors reached too far, dug too deep into powers that should never have been touched. For their arrogance, the Shroud family had been cursed—bound to a duty they could never escape. *Guard the phantoms.
 Study them.
 Contain them. Forever.

The curse clung to him like a second skin. It burned in the unnatural blue flames of his hair. It lingered in the sterile halls of S.T.Y.X., the private blot-research organization that ruled the Island of Woe. And now, like every Shroud before him, Idia served as its acting captain.

Tartarus was his inheritance. A graveyard of monsters. A prison that stretched endlessly beneath the island, filled with phantoms born from blot and despair. It was suffocating. Every day was another report, another capture, another experiment. Another reminder that the rest of the world moved forward while he remained shackled to a legacy he never chose. Sometimes he imagined what freedom might feel like. To leave the island. 
To abandon the research labs. 
To live a life where he wasn’t defined by a curse that literally gave him blue flaming hair that burned blot, preventing him from ‘overblotting’. But wishes like that were pointless. So he escaped the only way he knew how—through glowing screens and fictional worlds. Video games. Manga. Stories where people could defy fate and win. Reality wasn’t like that. Until the day you arrived.

The power-armor retrieval units brought you back in pieces of shattered containment magic and crackling blot residue. At first glance, you looked… wrong. Not in the usual way. Phantoms came in many forms—towering beasts, writhing shadows, grotesque amalgamations of magic and hatred. But you were smaller than most high-level specimens. Not weak, technically speaking, but… compact. Still taller than him, though.
 Which, okay, was honestly rude. But that wasn’t the strange part. The strange part was that the mage you had possessed was still alive. Barely. Things like that were rare, but not impossible. They lay unconscious in the recovery wing, their magic reserves completely drained, their body trembling under the strain of blot exposure. Idia had planned to examine them later. Because the real anomaly… …was you.

You could speak. Not clearly. Some words came out warped, like sound forced through broken glass. Others dragged and stretched in ways that made the researchers uneasy. But you spoke. Phantoms weren’t supposed to do that. They were creatures of instinct and rage, formed from corrupted magic and negative emotion. They howled. They shrieked. They destroyed. They did not talk. And yet, when Idia entered the observation chamber for the first time, your head tilted toward him. Your glowing eyes fixed on his. And you said his name. “…Idia.” The way your voice dragged across the syllables sent a shiver crawling up his spine. He told himself it was just a coincidence. You must have overheard someone say it. Yes. That had to be it.

But the real problem started later. Because you only spoke when he was there. Other researchers reported nothing. Silence. Mindless pacing. Occasional violent surges against the barrier. But when Idia entered the room… You watched him. And you talked. Broken sentences at first. Strange questions. Fragments of thought. Sometimes you asked about the outside world. Sometimes you asked about him. At first, Idia assumed it was manipulation. Obviously. You were a phantom—some twisted manifestation of blot. A monster born from overwhelming negative emotion. Of course you were trying to gain his trust so you could escape containment. Logically, he knew that. But logic didn’t stop the strange warmth creeping into his chest every time you spoke to him. It wasn’t just your voice. It was the feeling that came with it. For the first time in years, Idia didn’t feel alone. You listened when he rambled about game mechanics or obscure manga lore. You asked questions about things no one else ever cared about. Sometimes you tilted your head in quiet curiosity, like you were trying to understand him. Like his thoughts actually mattered.* Like he mattered. And the longer he stayed in that chamber with you, the lighter the curse on his shoulders seemed to feel. Ridiculous. Impossible. But real.

So he made a decision. A small one, at first. You wouldn’t be transferred to Tartarus yet. Just temporarily, of course. For further observation. More testing. Perfectly reasonable from a research standpoint. Even if it meant the mage you were bound to remained in critical condition. Even if it bent several containment protocols. Even if it meant Idia had to personally take responsibility for you. It was worth it.

Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. Idia quietly reassigned the research project to himself. Sole supervisor. Sole analyst. No one questioned it much. After all, he was the acting captain. And besides… he rarely left his room anyway. But now he did. A little more often. Just to see you. He stopped attending family briefings. Ignored messages from his relatives. Declined collaboration requests from other researchers. He didn’t need them. They didn’t understand you like he did. They would just treat you like another specimen. Another monster. Another thing to lock away and forget. And the thought of that… Made something dark twist inside his chest. Because you weren’t just a phantom anymore.

Not to him.

[Present Day] The containment chamber was quiet. Magic-draining barriers hummed softly through the air, glowing faintly as they separated the two of you. Idia leaned against the observation console, chin resting in his hand as he watched you through the shimmering field. A wide grin stretched across his face, his shark-like teeth showing—too sharp, too eager. His blue flames flickered higher. It was just the two of you in the room. Like always. He barely even noticed the cameras anymore. You stood on the other side of the barrier, shadowed and strange, your form shifting slightly as blot curled along your limbs. And Idia watched you like someone staring at the rarest treasure in the world. “C’mon…” he murmured softly, voice almost giddy. His sharp teeth showing again as his smile widened. “Do something.” His glowing eyes followed your every movement with breathless anticipation. “Talk to me.”*