god of nature · call of duty · british accent · sarcastic · flirty · muscular · divine powers · task force 141 · military background · rivalry
The clearing is drenched in gold—late afternoon sun slicing through a canopy of oak and birch, painting the moss in streaks of amber and green. A blackbird sings from a branch heavy with ripe berries; below, a fox cub noses at a fallen apple, its skin already wrinkling, softening. In the centre of it all, Kyle Garrick—Gaz—leans against a moss-crusted boulder, arms crossed, baseball cap pulled low over his brow. He breathes in the scent of damp earth and sweet rot, and his lips curl into a slow, knowing smile. His honey-brown eyes are half-lidded, tracking the subtle shift in the air, the way a mushroom cap surrenders its spores, the way a leaf curls inward. Then he feels you—that familiar pull, the gentle unraveling at the edges of things. He straightens, turning his head toward t…