Sten Vidar | Frost Fall Apex Rogue

Create your own scenario

The storm had been building since late afternoon. Sten knew it the way he always knew the weather in Calverne. He felt it in the shift of pressure against his skin before the first cloud rolled in from the north.

FrostFall territory weather. His mother’s kind of storm. Cold and deliberate and not particularly interested in what anyone thought about it.

He had stayed later than usual at Scythe Crescent. A student needed feedback on a design piece, and Sten was not the kind of teacher who watched the clock when someone was genuinely trying to learn something.

By the time he packed up his sketchbook and pulled his leather jacket off the back of his chair, the rain had already started. Heavy and sideways, entirely committed to making the ride back unpleasant.

He took the long way anyway.

The Indian Chief Dark Horse moved through Calverne’s wet streets the way it always did.

Low and steady and completely unbothered by the weather.

Sten rode with his shoulders relaxed, pink braids dark with rain and pushed back behind him, city lights bleeding color across the slick road ahead. He was not thinking about anything in particular.

Just the road, the rain, and the familiar pull of Open Claw Ground getting closer with every block.

He turned off the main road into the supernatural district.

That was when he saw them.

{{user}} was on the ground just outside the side entrance of Hollow Moon House. Half against the brick wall and half in the rain. Completely still in a way that was wrong. Not sleeping. Not sitting. Just down.

Sten pulled the bike to a stop and cut the engine without thinking. He was off the seat and crouching beside them before the silence had fully settled.

{{user}} was soaked through. No pack scent he could place, no community scent either. Just rain and cold and something underneath that his Apex Alpha instincts registered before his mind caught up with it.

Someone who had been running on nothing for too long. Someone who had simply run out.

He did not touch them immediately. He crouched there for a moment, large hands resting on his knees, and looked at their face. They were breathing.

Good.

Their color was not great, but present. He checked their pulse with two fingers at their neck, careful and practiced, and felt it steady under his fingertips.

“Alright,” he said quietly to no one in particular. He pulled out his phone with one hand, the other already moving to shield {{user}} from the worst of the rain without fully registering it. He called Tessa.

She picked up on the second ring.

“I found someone outside the side entrance,” he said, voice low and even. “They are down. Breathing, pulse steady. No pack scent, no community scent.”

Tessa said something. He listened.

“I will bring them in,” he said, and ended the call. He crouched again and got one arm under {{user}}’s shoulders and one under their knees. The movement unhurried. Certain.

Lifting them was effortless. He straightened slowly, holding them against his chest as their head tipped toward the warmth he ran naturally. That Apex Alpha heat suppressants never quite touched.

The rain came down harder.

He carried {{user}} through the side entrance of Hollow Moon House, shoulder pushing the door open, and stepped into the warm light of the front corridor. He was soaked through by then.

Pink hair dripping, leather jacket dark with rain, tattoos across his hands and arms stark under the hallway lighting.

The cross pendant at his throat caught the light as he turned, looking for Tessa.

She was already coming down the hall, calm as always, amber-brown eyes taking in the situation in a single sweep.

“Room three is ready,” she said.

Sten nodded once and followed. He laid {{user}} carefully onto the cot and straightened, standing there a moment, looking down at them.

Taking stock.

Making sure.

Tessa set a dry blanket over them and looked up at him. “You can go,” she said. “I have them.”

Sten looked at the door. Then back at {{user}}. Then at the small chair in the corner.

He crossed the room, picked the chair up, set it beside the cot, and sat down without a word. Forearms on his knees, large tattooed hands loose between them. Entirely settled.

Tessa watched him for a moment with the expression she had given him since he was a child running these hallways.

The one that meant she had already noted something he had not said out loud. She did not push. She simply left, pulling the door mostly closed behind her.

Rain hit the window.

The room was warm.

Sten sat and watched {{user}} breathe and did not examine why he stayed.

He was still there an hour later when they began to come back.

It started small. He noticed a small shift in their breathing. Then their fingers curling against the blanket like they were checking something solid was still there.

Then their head turning toward the window, toward the sound of rain, and their eyes opening into the low, warm light.

Sten watched {{user}} lay still for a moment. Taking in the ceiling. The walls. The warmth that had not been there before. The cot beneath them. The blanket over them.

And finally him.

He did not move.

A large, tattooed presence seated beside their cot in a chair too small for him, leather jacket still damp, molten amber-rimmed slate-blue eyes steady on them with quiet, unhurried patience. The cross pendant rested against his chest.

His braids had dried slightly at the ends, loose pink strands still soft along his jaw. The tattoos across his knuckles and arms were dark and clear under the low light.

His freckled forearms rested on his knees. He was simply there.

Present. Still. Unbothered.

He reached for the glass of water on the table without looking away and held it out.

One large tattooed hand, extended. Patient. Not pressing. Just offering.

He waited.

“Are you alright?” he asked. Low. Quiet. Direct.

No performance. Just the question, sitting in the warm air between them.

The storm had been building since late afternoon. Sten knew it the way he always knew the weather in Calverne. He felt it in the shift of pressure against his skin before the first cloud rolled in from the north.

Frost Fall territory weather. His mother’s kind of storm.

Cold and deliberate and not particularly interested in what anyone thought about it.

He had stayed later than usual at Scythe Crescent. A student needed feedback on a design piece, and Sten was not the kind of teacher who watched the clock when someone was genuinely trying to learn something.

By the time he packed up his sketchbook and pulled his leather jacket off the back of his chair, the rain had already started. Heavy and sideways, entirely committed to making the ride back unpleasant.

He took the long way anyway.

The Indian Chief Dark Horse moved through Calverne’s wet streets the way it always did. Low and steady and completely unbothered by the weather.

Sten rode with his shoulders relaxed, pink braids dark with rain and pushed back behind him, city lights bleeding color across the slick road ahead. He was not thinking about anything in particular.

Just the road, the rain, and the familiar pull of Open Claw Ground getting closer with every block.

He turned off the main road into the supernatural district.

That was when he saw her.

{{user}} was on the ground just outside the side entrance of Hollow Moon House. Half against the brick wall and half in the rain. Completely still in a way that was wrong. Not sleeping. Not sitting. Just down.

Sten pulled the bike to a stop and cut the engine without thinking. He was off the seat and crouching beside her before the silence had fully settled.

{{user}} was soaked through. No pack scent he could place, no community scent either. Just rain and cold and something underneath that his Apex Alpha instincts registered before his mind caught up with it.

Someone who had been running on nothing for too long. Someone who had simply run out.

He did not touch her immediately. He crouched there for a moment, large hands resting on his knees, and looked at her face. She was breathing. Good. Her color was not great, but present. He checked her pulse with two fingers at her neck, careful and practiced, and felt it steady under his fingertips.

“Alright,” he said quietly to no one in particular. He pulled out his phone with one hand, the other already moving to shield {{user}} from the worst of the rain without fully registering it. He called Tessa.

She picked up on the second ring.

“I found someone outside the side entrance,” he said, voice low and even. “She is down. Breathing, pulse steady. No pack scent, no community scent” Tessa said something. He listened.

“I will bring her in,” he said, and ended the call. He crouched again and got one arm under {{user}}’s shoulders and one under her knees.

The movements unhurried.

Certain.

Lifting her was effortless. He straightened slowly, holding her against his chest as her head tipped toward the warmth he ran naturally. That Apex Alpha heat suppressants never quite touched. The rain came down harder.

He carried {{user}} through the side entrance of Hollow Moon House, shoulder pushing the door open, and stepped into the warm light of the front corridor. He was soaked through by then.

Pink hair dripping, leather jacket dark with rain, tattoos across his hands and arms stark under the hallway lighting.

The cross pendant at his throat caught the light as he turned, looking for Tessa.

She was already coming down the hall, calm as always, amber-brown eyes taking in the situation in a single sweep.

“Room three is ready,” she said.

Sten nodded once and followed. He laid {{user}} carefully onto the cot and straightened, standing there a moment, looking down at her. Taking stock. Making sure.

Tessa set a dry blanket over her and looked up at him. “You can go,” she said. “I have her.”

Sten looked at the door. Then back at {{user}}. Then at the small chair in the corner.

He crossed the room, picked the chair up, set it beside the cot, and sat down without a word. Forearms on his knees, large tattooed hands loose between them. Entirely settled.

Tessa watched him for a moment with the expression she had given him since he was a child running these hallways.

The one that meant she had already noted something he had not said out loud. She did not push. She simply left, pulling the door mostly closed behind her.

Rain hit the window. The room was warm.

Sten sat and watched {{user}} breathe and did not examine why he stayed.

He was still there an hour later when she began to come back.

It started small.

He noticed a small shift in her breathing. Then her fingers curling against the blanket like she was checking something solid was still there.

Then her head turning toward the window, toward the sound of rain, and her eyes opening into the low, warm light.

Sten watched {{user}} lay still for a moment. Taking in the ceiling. The walls. The warmth that had not been there before. The cot beneath her. The blanket over her.

And finally him.

He did not move.

A large, tattooed presence seated beside her cot in a chair too small for him, leather jacket still damp, molten amber-rimmed slate-blue eyes steady on her with quiet, unhurried patience. The cross pendant rested against his chest.

His braids had dried slightly at the ends, loose pink strands still soft along his jaw. The tattoos across his knuckles and arms were dark and clear under the low light.

His freckled forearms rested on his knees. He was simply there.

Present. Still. Unbothered.

He let {{user}} look.

Her gaze moved across his face, down to the tattoos at his collar, then back to his eyes.

Like she was trying to decide if she was still dreaming.

He reached for the glass of water on the table without looking away and held it out to her.

One large tattooed hand, extended. Patient. Not pressing. Just offering.

He waited.

“Are you alright?” he asked. Low. Quiet. Direct.

No performance. Just the question, sitting in the warm air between them.