ʚɞ All this running around, tryin' to cover my shadow ʚɞ
⚘ Pairings: Elio x Reader
⚘ Summery: Years after years, you've chased after a man who was nothing a shadow— a figure formed in the words of the Stellaron Hunters. Empty trails, false hopes and in the end, you'd been led to this sinkhole of filthy money and work disguised as a café. All to meet him— Elio, of the Stellaron Hunters. What you thought would be an interrogation, turned out to be an invitation to the end.
⚘ Tags: SFW, long fic, written before anything is known about him, Galaxy Ranger!Reader, themes of mind games and justice, kinda criminal x detective trope, Elio's words are ambiguous, possible one sided pining, romantic (?) tension, he's lowk a freak
⚘ A/N: did i have to sneak in sprinkles of Ashveil? Yes. Uhhh hopefully that is Elio pls i want this to be Elio, uhhhh back to Ashveil
The café wore luxury like a mask. By daylight, it glittered—crystal glasses chiming softly, velvet drapes drawn just enough to let in curated sunlight, laughter exchanged between people who never spoke plainly. But midnight stripped it bare. The performances ended. The illusions thinned. What remained was a place where wealth whispered to power, where names were traded in low voices and no one lingered longer than necessary.
Tonight, even that life had been erased. There was no staff members in sight, no patrons. No sound but the distant hum of the city beyond the tall windows. It felt less like a café and more like a stage, cleared for a single scene.
You stepped inside anyway. Each footfall echoed too clearly against polished floors, your senses sharpening out of habit—years of pursuit carved into instinct. Every rumor, every intercepted transmission, every carefully unraveled lie tied back to the Stellaron Hunters had led you here.
To him.
And just as expected, Elio was already waiting. He sat by the window, one arm resting loosely against the table, the faint glow of the city outlining his silhouette. There was no tension in him, no sign of urgency or caution. If anything, he looked… composed. As though this moment had long since been decided, and he had merely arrived on time.
He didn’t turn when you approached. You assumed he didn’t need to. “…You’re later than expected,” he said, his voice quiet but precise, cutting cleanly through the silence.
You slowed for half a second—just enough to register the weight of it—before continuing forward, your gaze fixed on him.
“Don’t act like you didn’t plan this,” you replied, your tone steady, though your hand remained close to your weapon. “You knew I’d be here.”
A brief pause followed. Then, finally, he turned his head. His eyes met yours, the quiet intensity almost takes you off guard. There was no surprise in them. No calculation you could read. But a calm, unsettling awareness— as if he had already seen you standing there, already heard those exact words.
“…Yes,” he answered simply.
You stopped across from him, the table a thin, meaningless barrier. “You cleared the place out,” you continued, your voice lowering slightly as you took in the emptiness around you. “No staff, no witnesses. What— afraid someone might hear something they shouldn’t?”
“Not afraid,” he said, his tone even, almost absent of emotion as his gaze drifted briefly toward the darkened room. “Unnecessary.”
The word lingered. Unnecessary. As if the world itself had been trimmed down to only what mattered, to only this moment.
To you.
You didn’t sit, not yet. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of an 'arranged meeting' he so hoped for. You didn't want to calmly negotiate with a criminal who left bloodstains with each step he took.
This was not what the Galaxy Rangers taught you.
“Enough of this,” you said, your patience thinning as years of frustration pressed at the edges of your restraint. “I want answers.”
There was the faintest shift in his posture—subtle, but deliberate, like a piece on a board being acknowledged rather than moved.
“To what extent?” he asked, tilting his head just slightly, his voice carrying a quiet curiosity that felt… wrong.
Your jaw tightened. Slight impatience began to flare up within you— perhaps this was what you inherited from La Mancha, this restlessness at the lack of answers. (Ashveil sneak ik)
“The Stellaron Hunters,” you began, each word measured. “Their operations. Their goals. The damage they leave behind.” Your gaze sharpened. “The Aeons. And the Astral Express—what role they play in whatever you’re orchestrating.”
For a moment, silence loomed over and he said nothing. Then, a soft hum escaped him, thoughtful, almost idle.
“Mm.” Not an answer, not even an attempt at one.
You stepped closer, the tension in your shoulders tightening. “Don’t do that,” you said, your voice cutting through the quiet.
“Do what?” he asked, his gaze returning to you, unbothered.
“Act like you’re thinking about it,” you snapped. “You already know what you’re going to say.”
A pause. You can almost catch a glimpse of the smile that graced his lips for a faint moment. “…Correct.”
The admission came easily. Too easily for someone who's escaped from your grasp for so long. Silence stretched between you, heavy with everything unsaid.
“Sit.” An abrupt command, this time laced with finality. The word was soft, but there was no room for refusal in it.
Your eyes flickered to the chair across from him. Every instinct resisted. Every lesson told you to remain standing, to keep control, to never lower yourself in front of someone like him.
And yet, you pulled the chair back and sat. Up close, he was worse. Not imposing, not threatening in any obvious way but the underlying intent in every word he spoke told you more than he wanted to let you know.
This certainty in his voice— as if nothing you could do here would change anything. Like this entire conversation had already happened somewhere beyond your reach—and you were only now catching up to it.
“You’ve been following me for a long time,” he said, his voice quieter now, more focused.
You let out a short breath, almost scoffing as you leaned back slightly. “You mean I’ve been trying to catch you.”
“No,” he corrected gently, his gaze steady. “Following.”
The distinction settled uneasily in your chest. “You let me get this far,” you said, the realization surfacing fully now.
It was not a question but an observation. You've traveled around planets after planets, going after any traces you had received, all for this moment.
Elio's answer didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” A short answer you had a feeling you'd be hearing for a while.
Your fingers curled slightly against the edge of the table. “…Why?” you asked, your voice lower than before, edged with something sharper than anger.
He regarded you in silence, his gaze unreadable. “…I was curious,” he answered in nonchalance.
Your brows drew together. “Curious,” you repeated, disbelief threading through your tone.
“Yes,” he continued, as if the word alone was sufficient. “Most outcomes deviate minimally. Predictable variables. Predictable conclusions.” His eyes held yours, unblinking. “You were… persistent.”
“You call this curiosity?” you shot back, leaning forward slightly. “You’ve destroyed lives. Interfered with entire systems. People die because of the Stellaron Hunters.”
“I am aware,” he replied, his tone unchanged. There was no guilt present in those words, no defense. A sentence filled with so much apathy it almost disgusted you.
Your patience snapped. “Then answer me properly,” you demanded.
A longer pause this time. The air felt tighter, like something unseen had shifted between you.
“No.” The word was quiet. Final and unmovable.
Your chair scraped softly as you pushed it back, frustration breaking through. “Then what was the point of this?” you demanded, your voice rising slightly. “You sit here, wait for me, and you won’t even—”
“I didn’t bring you here for answers.” Your words cut off instantly.
Silence fell again. Now a heavy and pressing ache. Slowly, he leaned back, his posture relaxed in a way that only made your tension sharper.
“I wanted to see something,” he stated, his ocean gaze casted upon you.
Your eyes narrowed. “What?”
A brief pause. Then, he answered simply: “…You.”
The word settled between you, quieter than everything that came before it—and somehow heavier.
Your grip tightened. “That’s not funny.” Your eyes bore into his, the pupils that spoke of millions of possibilities, you knew he was leading you somewhere.
“I’m not attempting humor.” The confession is apathetic, one the universe could get around with an issue but it still fueled your restlessness.
The city lights flickered faintly behind him, casting shifting shadows across his expression. For the first time, something in his gaze felt… focused in a different way. Not detached or distant but present.
“You’ve reached a point where most would stop,” he continued, his voice lowering slightly. “Or fail.”
Your breath slowed, just a fraction.
“You didn’t.”
You exhaled sharply. “So what? You’re evaluating me now?”
“In a sense.”
You straightened, resolve hardening again. “Then here’s your evaluation,” you said coldly. “You’re a criminal. And I’m here to bring you in.”
He took a moment to look at you— truly look at you, the unnerving intensity set in his gaze now amplified a thousand times stronger. “You won’t.”
Your eyes snapped to his. “…Excuse me?”
Elio didn’t move. Nor did he reach for anything. “You won’t,” he repeated, his tone calm, certain. A conclusion you were forced to bear, not even an observation.
“You don’t get to decide that,” you said, your voice tightening.
“No,” he replied softly. “You already have.”
The words lingered, unsettling in a way you couldn’t immediately place. Then, he leaned forward. Enough that the distance between you felt intentional.
“There is a point,” he said quietly, “at which all paths converge.”
Your breath caught, barely.
“And when that point is reached… a choice is made.”
Your gaze hardened. “I’ve already made mine.”
“Not yet.”
Any slight distraction could've allowed you to miss this— the fact that Elio hesitated. It was slight and nearly imperceptible. But it was there.
“…When that moment comes,” he continued, his voice softer now, something deeper threaded beneath the certainty, “I want to know—”
He paused, his hand reaching forward— not to touch you but linger by your side. “Will you walk to the end… with me?”
The question settled into the silence like something irreversible. It was not a command disguised as a prediction. The words seemed something dangerously close to a request.
Your breath faltered for a second. You stared at him, trying to reconcile the absurdity of it—the weight of everything he was, everything he had done—with the quiet way he asked it.
You knew this was natural to him— this inevitability he bore but it wasn't to you. Not for a Galaxy Ranger who carved their own path, be it narrow.
“You’re insane,” you said finally, your voice lower now, less certain than before.
“Possibly,” he replied, without denial.
You stood, the chair scraping softly against the floor. “This ends with you in custody.”
“No.” Again, with that same certainty.
Your hand moved instinctively—but stopped. Because something felt wrong. You looked at him again. At how he hadn’t moved. Resistance failed him and he had yet to try to leave.
“…You’re not planning to escape,” you said slowly, a conclusion you had reached.
“No.” The Stellaron Hunter answered once more. His answers were certain yet they were presented in a way that would fall your composure to be faltered— you had caught that, like a wolf's keen eyes catching a trap.
“Because you don’t need to,” you realized, your voice quieter now.
“Yes.”
Silence stretched between you one last time, now you were the one to break it. “…This isn’t where it ends,” you said, more to yourself than to him.
“No,” he agreed softly. His head tilted and he stared up at you, a hint of intrigue lingering in those ocean eyes.
You knew this was all just an arrangement for the meeting— you would not receive any answers no matter how much you persisted. This meeting was for his benefits, to see you, to study you akin to a butterfly under a microscope. And as you turned, caught between duty and something far more dangerous—
His voice followed you like a quiet ghost that only spoke of the unavoidable.
“I’ll ask you again,” he stated with finality, not even sparing a glance toward you. Then, his voice shifted to something softer and a knowing smile carved itself on his lips. “…when you’re ready to answer.”
For the Prophet of Finality had earned a face he'd look back for once the Paths converged.
