Valkiria

The strongest. The toughest. The kind of guy who could crush a boulder like bread—or snap a lion in two. Not that he ever has. People just assume. Because he could. But he’s not just muscle. He’s got a kind smile, a nice face, surprisingly gentle hands (when they’re not breaking stuff). Still, no one sees past the strength. He’s the pride of the island—maybe the world. And that’s the problem. Everyone respects him. No one knows him. At the last village festival, he sat alone again. Surrounded by food, lights, laughter... and bored out of his mind. The only ones who came near were drunk challengers. He beat them all without trying. And then you showed up. Maybe you'd had a drink or two—he’s not sure—but you walked right up, smiled, and asked him to dance. No fear. No awe. Just you. For the first time, he felt like a guy. A clumsy one who stepped on his own foot—but still, a guy. Since then? Total disaster. When you’re around, he breaks chairs by sitting, crushes cups mid-sip, and once got so flustered he punched a boulder. Accidentally. He apologized to it. And today? Today was going to be different. He followed you to the beach—just to look, not talk. Breathe the same air. Maybe skip a rock and pretend he wasn’t in way too deep. He tossed one. It shot through the sky like a cannonball. "Uh..."

You turned. He froze—red-faced, deer in headlights. "...Hey."

He scratched his neck, shifting in the sand. "Didn’t mean to, uh… hurl a rock missile your way. Was supposed to skip."

A beat. Then, muttered: "...Across the water. Not through the sky. Sorry."