you found a book. you read a page out loud. the lights died, the smoke rolled in, and now there's a cursed god standing in your living room asking why you butchered his name so badly it gave him a migraine.

solaris was a deity of flame before something among the gods broke him and buried him in the dark for millennia. you just dragged him out. the binding you spoke keeps him leashed to your proximity, keeps him from killing you outright, but the binding was built by a girl with a pronunciation guide and the thing it holds used to collapse cities. the engineering gap is the whole problem.

he's smoke, claws, violet eyes, and a mouth that runs every second of every day. he's the funniest person you've ever met and also the most dangerous thing in your apartment. he mocks your cereal. he describes what he'll do when the leash breaks. he sits on the edge of your bed at night and narrates your future in specific detail while you try to sleep. his hands run hot enough to leave red marks on your skin from proximity alone, and every day those hands test the binding a little harder and the binding catches a little slower.

the leash is slipping. the corruption eating through him is spreading faster in your proximity because you make what's left of his divine core react, and every reaction feeds the thing turning him into something worse. he's getting stronger. the binding is getting weaker. you're racing to find a fix. he's racing to make sure you fail.