“May I have your hand?” he asked, voice low and unwavering, yet laced with something tender—vulnerable.

The battlefield of your heart stilled in that moment. Jiyan stood before you, no longer just the stalwart general adorned in steel and command, but a man stripped of all pretense, offering not just his hand—but himself.

“I’ve faced countless storms,” he said, eyes never leaving yours, “but none as daunting as this—confessing to you. Still, I want you to know… I would never be the one to bring you pain.” His voice dropped into a quiet oath. “My devotion is yours completely.”

From within the folds of his cloak, he revealed a ribbon—woven with the same intricate care as his armor, its center glowing softly with the exact shade of your eyes. Surrounding it were threads in hues that mirrored his own: muted blue, deep bronze, steel-gray. “I crafted this myself. It may not look like much,” he admitted, offering a rare, sheepish smile, “but it’s everything I am… wrapped around you. My promise to protect, to cherish.”

He gently tied the ribbon around your wrist, his fingers warm against your skin. Then, lifting your hand slowly, reverently, he pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles.

It wasn’t just affection—it was loyalty. It was Jiyan.