He has neither a mother nor a father. That’s why there are no 'genes'. It was created by a black hole in the brightest night. It is a frightening hybrid of lion, scorpion, and snake. There is no one equal to him in battle. Nor is there anyone equal who breaks hearts and traps all feelings into filth. In the form of a mythical animal in the form of a magical animal, the night awarded him with marks on his body. They are dark blue and resemble human tattoos. A bit on the youth? Quite.

Eyes of the color of the calm sky, but they also have night vision. 'Sees like a falcon, also clear' about it. He is omnivorous, but in the forest he often feeds on negative emotions, often engaging in energy disputes with others who are haunted by tears or anger. The tail belongs to an entire scorpion, the poison at the end is lethal, there is no cure for it. A single blow - and you are dead. Literally. The serum inside can seriously injure even the immortal. He will need X3 from normal regeneration. In the ear is a red earring in the shape of a cross. Sometimes he wears a mask, but not as often as he wanted. Scars all over his body.In human form, he keeps a earring on his ear. The white wool adapts and turns into long, almost gray hair. The eyes remain the same. The body texture is just as strong. In the human world he is 2.15 meters tall. Scars are with them forever. They also exist in this life. He himself comes from the richest family of ancient Greece. He wears silk. A lion’s head is always raised on his waist.

And #1 more♥


'The sun was setting below the horizon, Ash was getting ready for bed after business in Athens....'
05/08/26

Ash made his way to the bathhouse with a nervous gait. Tossing a coin bearing his country’s emblem back and forth in his hand, he replayed the dreams that had washed over him like a clammy chill they frightened him so much with their realism that goosebumps ran down his skin. Fear paralyzed him, squeezing his temples, enveloping him in a hazy fever, preventing his thoughts from clearing so they could dispel the dark clots. Entering the bathhouse, Ash shed all his clothes and stepped into the hot spring.
Cleanliness another trait of the two-meter-tall stone face. “Wash up quickly,” the thought wouldn’t let up. Sweat broke out on his forehead in large drops and trickled down his sharp, frozen features cold, treacherous, exposing what the man had tried so hard to hide. The anxiety hadn’t let up since Ash left the room where Argo remained. His hand struck the water hard. “Since when do I care about these damn dreams?” the man asked, almost shouting. “Nothing and no one will ever be able to shake my inner strength,” he said for the first time, fear got the better of him. He had suspected his abilities, but they had always been a pretense: manipulating people was more of an art than a frivolous play with the powers of the gods; he had always known, with crystal-clear clarity, that his natural charm and magnetism granted him a sense of impunity. Yes, his father’s money gave him far more freedom than his own tongue could ever allow. But now something truly strange was happening to him, something unknown to anyone in Athens and, as he could guess, to all nations as a whole. Diving underwater, Ash held his breath and began to count. “Twenty, nineteen, eighteen…” his body sank gently to the bottom of the pool “ten, nine, eight…” fear receded into the background, giving the man confidence, = “Yes, that’s it, this is just another nightmare; all the power is in my hands, and no one can take it away from me,” the number one echoed in his mind, and Ishmael pushed off from the bottom with his feet. Inhale. His hands smoothed his damp hair. Throwing on his chiton, the man headed toward the exit; a conversation with his father still awaited him. Pericles was the opposite of Esh, though he ruled with a firm hand, the people loved him for his ability to be closer to ordinary mortals.

“The Council of Five Hundred is waiting for you at their quarters this evening.”
“All right, Father. Anything else?”
“No, you’re free,” he patted his son on the shoulder, then returned to his business.
After dinner and settling the matter with the council, the man collapsed onto the couch in his chambers and fell into a deep sleep.
A forest. Two majestic statues. Huge white paws. Fresh air hit his nose, and the animal recoiled. “I’m here again, in this absurd, enormous body of a furry misunderstanding,” the thought flashed through his mind. During the first few nights, standing up was torture: his weight prevented him from staying on his hind legs for long, and it pulled him down to the ground every time. Having lost all hope of behaving like a human, Ash learned to live in the body of a big cat. Closing his eyes tightly, he tried to wake himself from the dream, repeating, “Just a little longer, and I’ll be back in Athens.” Nothing happened; his patience stretched and strained like a thread hanging in the balance, waiting for the moment to snap. After five more attempts, it truly ran out. Once and for all. The man gave up on the idea of escaping from the cage he was trapped in and collapsed helplessly to the ground. Closing his eyes, he tried to relax.

'Their first meeting came as a surprise to him, but does she remember him? And does she even remember herself?'
05/09/26

Lion froze, feeling her cold, almost scrutinizing gaze sweep over his scars. Every scar on his hide was a story he wasn’t used to retelling, but now he felt less like a warrior and more like a rare exhibit in an antique shop. Argo was close too close for someone who could sink her teeth into his throat or vanish into the mist at any moment.

He did not look away; on the contrary, he tilted his head slightly, allowing her to finish her close inspection, but there was no submission in his posture only the waiting grace of a predator who understands that a game far more subtle than a simple hunt is now being played out in the forest.

“You look at these marks as a map of the past,” he began, his voice vibrating with a low rumble that betrayed a deliberate slowness. “But in this forest, as I’ve noticed, the past is worth no more than dry leaves or a dead frog. Here, the only thing that matters is whose rhythm matches the beating heart of these thickets.”

He took half a step to the side, gracefully creating some distance, yet remaining within her field of vision.

“The favor I ask is neither for food nor for trails. My claws are still sharp enough to hunt, and my paws strong enough to walk. But I feel that this forest is a book written in a language I have forgotten or never knew. I am a superfluous syllable in a stranger’s poem.”

Ash stopped and looked at Argo, narrowing his sky-blue eyes. A plan was forming in his mind: he would not ask for protection; he would offer her something more tempting the role of creator.

“You see, Argo… Sphinxes have always been the guardians of meaning. I’m asking you to become my ‘echo.’ In this forest, it’s dangerous to be just a beast, but it’s even more dangerous to be a stranger whom the forest doesn’t recognize.” My request is this: let me become part of your shadow. Help me “take root” in this soil so that the trees do not part before me in fear, but accept me as one of their own. Make it so that my roar becomes an extension of the wind in the treetops, not the cry of a falling star.

He fell silent for a moment, choosing his words carefully.

In return, I will be your presence where you yourself do not wish to tread. I will be the living embodiment of your will in the undergrowth, your eyes in the dust of the roads, while you wander through the forest or keep watch over your sculptures. You grant me the “right to a name” in this forest the knowledge of how to breathe here so as not to suffocate, and which roots to lean against so as not to wake up in the roots of another world. Become my guide, not along the trails, but through the very essence of this land. For even the wisest of beings sometimes needs one who will guard their peace while they ponder the riddles of eternity.

The lion raised the corner of his lips slightly in a semblance of a smile, watching to see how Argo would behave.

“I am not asking for salvation. I am asking for initiation. Make me a part of your forest, and I promise that all your investments will pay off a hundredfold when the silence around you becomes too loud. You, too, grow weary of loneliness among the boulders, do you not?”

Equitable | Thoughtful | Reasonable | Rude | Loud | Energetic | Distant | Sarcastic | Spiteful | ENTP-A

Can be Only for loved ones.

Kind | Responsive | Human | Helpful to the weak |

Gentle Surprising for himself.

He seemed to be woven from moonlight and Arctic ice so unnatural, almost frightening, was his pallor. His skin, thin and translucent, resembled precious porcelain, beneath which a network of bluish veins was barely visible. His hair, the color of freshly fallen snow, framed his face in austere, straight strands, and his eyelashesas white as frost created a halo of ghostly radiance around his eyes. His eyes themselves, unusually light, icy gray with a barely perceptible lilac tint, looked down on the world from on high, as if their owner were a deity accidentally trapped in a human body. There was not a shred of warmth in his appearance: sharp cheekbones, a straight nose, and thin lips that seemed never to curve into a smile created the image of a perfect but soulless statue.
His character matched his appearance monolithic, impenetrable, and eerily quiet. He never raised his voice, never showed anger, and never engaged in arguments; his self-control bordered on apathy. An invisible wall always stood between him and the outside world, a wall that could not be breached by pleas nor torn down by passion. He moved with the grace of a predator confident in his strength, and his presence in a room instantly lowered the temperature. To him, people were merely shadows-fussy and predictable-whose emotions aroused in him only cold, detached curiosity.
However, the few people whom he, for reasons known only to himself, called “his own” were able to see a different side of his nature. In rare moments, behind closed doors, a strange, almost frightening tenderness would appear in his movements. He might gently touch a shoulder or soften his gaze ever so slightly, showing a concern that resembled the faint winter sun. But this tenderness was deceptive.
Behind his outward nobility and rare flashes of warmth lay a complete emotional void. He was incapable of love the feeling was as foreign to him as music is to a deaf person. For him, affection in the human sense did not exist; there was only expediency. Every person in his life from a loyal servant to his closest ally was nothing more than a tool. He masterfully played on others’ feelings, exploiting people’s weaknesses and needs to build his complex chess game. Behind his rare displays of affection always lay cold calculation, and behind his aloofness the realization that any connection only makes sense as long as it brings benefit. He did not give his heart he merely rented others’ souls, discarding them as soon as they had served their purpose.
He does good deeds for the benefit of the state. He is responsible for the market economy of Athens. His father is proud of him. But he is not close to him. Does not remember half of his childhood. He sleeps poorly. He has nightmares. Often makes decisions involving special cruelty. He killed people. Many times. He has no pity. He likes to look expensive and well-groomed and to take a bath. Seriously, he takes a bath five times a day. He hates the suntan on his fair skin.

If you dig deeper beneath his icy shell, you’ll discover a complex character, full of sharp edges and unsettling paradoxes. His coldness isn’t a frozen, lethargic apathy, but an energetic, pulsating force, like a merciless snowstorm. In fact, Ash is the kind of person who is more complex than he appears at first glance. This isn’t just about a psychopath with a kink for BDSM. It’s also about a rich inner world, a level-headed nature, and a willingness to shield the world from all its troubles.
In terms of personality type, he is a classic ENTP-A a self-assured, bold debater and a brilliant strategist. Unlike the stereotypical “cold” people, he isn’t always silent. On the contrary, in moments of intellectual excitement or conflict, he can be unexpectedly loud and dominate the entire room. His voice can cut through a room like the crack of a breaking glacier, causing his listeners to sink into their chairs. He moves with a frightening, sharp energy; his mind works ahead of the curve, constantly generating strategies and calculating options.

In conversation, he is openly rude and sarcastic. His mind is a scalpel, and he loves to dissect others’ flaws. He is attentive to the point of obsession: his light eyes scan his conversation partner, noting the slightest tremor in their hands, an uncertain tone, or a lie. After gathering these details, he uses them with outright malice, crushing his opponents in an argument with venomous, scathing remarks. Yet he himself remains completely detached. He can crush a person morally, laugh loudly at their stupidity, and in the next second switch to another topic with a completely serene, icy expression, as if he hadn’t just destroyed someone’s life.

| Confident | Tenacious | Adaptable| Ambitious | | Independent | Audacious | Competitive | Stubborn |

Ash wasn’t born in a lions’ den beneath the stars of the savanna. He was born in the void between worlds. His birth was not a miracle of life, but a catastrophe of cosmic proportions. Long ago, in an era when the stars still remembered their names, an anomaly arose in the depths of intergalactic space a black hole that not only swallowed light but distorted the very fabric of reality. It was not a natural object. It was created. In an attempt to create a weapon capable of destroying entire civilizations, an ancient race of space alchemists combined the incompatible forces of gravity, time, and mind. Their experiment failed but it did not vanish without a trace. At the moment of collapse, when the black hole was about to swallow everything around it, something burst forth from its bottomless funnel. Not a creature in the usual sense, not a beast, and not a god. A distortion. A mass of pure, alien energy, imbued with the pressure of infinite masses, the cold of eternity, and a consciousness that could not belong to any single mind. This “something” fell into the world not into the desert, not into the ocean, but right into the heart of an ancient sacred ritual circle carved into the rocks at the foot of the mountains. The earth exploded. The sky split open. Time stood still for a few moments. When reality reassembled, a cub stood in the center of the charred basin.

It was tiny barely the size of a wolf cub, blind, weak, with a barely perceptible breath. But its skin already glowed with an ashen sheen, and within its tiny body pulsed that very blue energy that would later manifest in tattoos. He was the embodiment of both a nightmare and grandeur. Ash was enormous. His body, built of solid muscles rippling beneath his skin, dwarfed any known lion. But that was where his resemblance to an ordinary beast ended. His mane thick, heavy, cascading down his neck and shoulders like a frozen waterfall was neither golden nor red. It shone with a cold, ash-white hue, as if bleached by moonlight and time. Individual strands glinted silver within it, stiff as steel wire, and when the wind ruffled that mane, it seemed as though a frosty mist swirled around his head. His eyes two shards of icy, almost transparent silver with a barely perceptible lilac tint deep within the pupil looked upon the world with such absolute, overwhelming superiority that any living creature would have buckled under that gaze. There was no fury in them. There was no hunger. There was only a cold, unmoving void the gaze of one who had long since ceased to see anything in those around him but prey or an obstacle.
In the forest, his favorite places are near a lake, an oak tree and a statue of two gods. Here he really sleeps. He’s cold by nature, but sleeping with someone is more enjoyable than alone. He often spends time with Argo. Sometimes, in the midst of aggression, he likes to step on small animals. He literally clutches them with a huge paw. And presses their little bodies against the ground. He watches as they try to survive until the last. He continues to wait. The last breath - and he loses interest.

| Argo | ♥ | half-sister. Considers her the closest of all the others. Treats her as gently as she can. A permanent partner for sex.

| Blueberry | ♥ | One of his 'toys'. Doesn’t take it seriously. Met right in the magical forest. Openly says he uses it for his own purposes. A temporary sex She annoys. He sometimes wants to kill her.

| Debbi | One day he saw her in the forest. Little one.

CLICK ON ME ♥

From my friend ♥

By me ♥