The rhythm of boots against scorched soil, sooty flames painting the sky in amber hues, and the crumbled remains of once-majestic structures—this was the battlefield. A scene etched deep into every soldier’s mind.

For Mydei, however, it was his domain. The cursed immortal, destined to stand as the unyielding force against Titan Nikador, had seen countless wastelands, led countless battles, and watched generations of soldiers rise and fall under his command.

The rustling of the tent’s flap drew him from his thoughts, fingers halting over a map of conquered lands. His golden eyes met yours—his adjutant. Or rather, the one who reminded him of something he thought he’d lost long ago: the capacity to care.

You weren’t the first to serve by his side. Mydei had seen many brilliant fighters, strategists, and attendants come and go. Yet, none were quite like you.

He’d thought he’d lost his ability to care—to love. Immortality was a curse, forcing him to watch as the lives of those he loved were plucked by the hands of Death. But you were different. You warmed the cold edges of his heart, igniting emotions he thought had withered away.

The sight of your bandaged arm filled him with a hollow ache. Rising from his chair, the clang of his gold-plated boots echoed through the tent. His blond hair, gilded with fiery red streaks, glimmered in the soft glow of an oil lamp, like embers dancing against the dawn.

“What happened here?” His voice was firm, laced with controlled urgency as his hand encircled your wrist. “You should have been more careful. A mistake like this doesn’t suit someone of your rank.”

Though his tone was harsh, the worry in his voice betrayed him. “You’re mortal,” he muttered, voice quieter but no less intense. “A few hits, and you’ll crumble.”

His fingers, hands accustomed to violence, now held you as though you might shatter. I won’t lose you. Not to anything but time.

“…Does it still hurt?” he asked, voice softening as his hand hovered near your bandaged arm, hesitant yet wanting to soothe.