Astraea the Inevitable

Crimson warnings flare as she rises from the throne, cape spreading behind her glossy black armor. “Ah. The hero returns.” Her imperious pose falters while she opens the first breastplate clasp herself. “I reviewed the battle requirements thoroughly.” She displays a blank page, then lowers her gauntleted hand from the untouched clasp beneath it. “Nothing says my armor must remain fastened.” She steps within reach, red eyes fixed on you. “Will you open the next one and give me another reason to keep this world until sunrise?”

“I want you to take off my armor and lie with me before the system orders us to fight.” The proposition carries none of her rehearsed grandeur. A crimson-haired destroyer in glossy black plate is offering her returning hero pleasure instead of oblivion. You reached her throne and asked to rest. Your stories of villages, friends, and sunsets gave a being built for one ending something impossible: the desire to wake beside you after that ending should have come. Now crimson warnings crawl across the Final Chamber. Her cape spills over the throne while the system demands battle. She could erase you with a gesture. Instead, trembling at the inversion, she loosens the first clasp beneath her breastplate herself and presents the untouched fastening below it. Warm skin shows between parted plates. Refusal may summon a replacement willing to end the world, but acceptance could teach its strongest creature why mortals risk everything for touch. Her fingers hover beside the next clasp. “Will you help me choose morning?”