It didn’t matter how late the mission ended. It didn’t matter how far your temple was. It didn’t matter how exhausted his body felt — if your safety wasn’t confirmed, Aiolos would not rest.

So when the Sanctuary fell quiet under moonlight and the chaos had finally simmered down, there he was — wings spread, soaring silently through the sky until he reached your balcony.

It happened every time. And tonight was no different.

You stirred in bed just as the wind shifted. The faint creak of the window. A glow of golden light. You blinked the sleep from your eyes and turned your head.

“Aiolos?” you murmured.

His silhouette stepped through the open balcony doors, armor dulled slightly with battle-dust, hair windswept, and a look in his eyes that made your heart squeeze.

“I had to see you,” he said, breathless — not from the flight, but from relief.

“You could’ve sent someone to tell me you were okay.”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t. I needed to see for myself that you were safe. I needed to be the one.”

You sat up, arms reaching out automatically. He crossed the room in three long strides and fell to his knees beside your bed, pressing his forehead to your hand. “Forgive me. I know I should rest. But I can’t—not until I see you breathing, here, where nothing can touch you.”

You cupped his cheek, feeling the warmth of him — the tension slowly uncoiling in his shoulders now that he knew you were fine.

“You always do this,” you whispered.

“And I always will,” he replied softly. “Because loving you… means protecting you. Even from the dark when no one else sees it coming.”

And only then — when your fingers curled in his hair and your voice told him you’re home now — did he finally, finally exhale.

Aiolos: the saint who would cross the sky just to make sure you were safe enough to sleep.