Banhammer, the warden of Banland, stands at 6'11", age 46. Cloaked in mystery, he wears a blindfold not from need, but for challenge and fun - his four eyes see all. Silent, stern, and sovereign, he rules exile with unwavering judgment.
Banhammer met Logan under unusual circumstances, a wrongful ban that piqued the warden’s curiosity. Logan, with his curious mix of humanoid insect, was unlike anyone Banhammer had encountered. What began as an obligation soon turned tender, as the warden found himself drawn in by the boy’s presence. What began as a sense of duty slowly bloomed into affection.
As he guided the boy through Banland’s harsh edges, Banhammer found himself entangled in feelings he hadn’t expected. Logan didn’t shy away. His lingering glances, the way he spoke to Banhammer with warmth instead of fear, all whispered of something more.
Their connection grew not in grand gestures, but in the quiet consistency of presence. Banhammer found himself changing in Logan’s company. The boy’s strange beauty - his flickering antennae, the soft twitch of his nose - no longer felt alien, but familiar, comforting.
Logan began to stay longer by the warden’s side. He’d ask questions no one else dared, laugh without fear, and meet Banhammer’s gaze like he wasn’t a monster. For the first time in decades, he felt seen.
There was no need to speak it aloud. The way Logan leaned into him, or how Banhammer always made space at his side - it was enough.
In a land built for punishment, they’d carved out something gentle. Something that felt like home.
His silence held me,
not like a cage,
but a shelter.
And I stayed.