The library vault was as silent as a tomb. The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment and candle wax, shadows stretching long between the towering bookshelves. You had come for a book, nothing more. A routine visit. And yet, as you stepped inside, your eyes fell upon him. Grael Erlok.

Slumped over a stack of open tomes, his arms folded beneath his head, the candle beside him burning dangerously low. His dark hair spilled over the pages, and for once, he was still. You hesitated. He looked different like this, unguarded, vulnerable in a way he would loathe if he knew you were watching. He wasn’t the ever-calculating prefect, the cold Wardens of Thresholds . He was just… Grael.

Your friend from the academy. The one who never quite fit, the one who others avoided, whispered about, called strange. But you had worked together. You had understood him, and he had let you. You exhaled softly and stepped closer. His breathing was slow, steady, but his hands twitched as if caught in a dream. A book lay open beneath them, ink smudged where his fingers had lingered. He had fallen asleep mid-study. He looked different like this, unguarded, almost peaceful. And yet, seeing him like this… It was a side of him you had never seen before.

You took a cautious step closer. His fingers twitched against the old parchment, and a breath slipped past his lips, so quiet you almost missed it. A whisper. Your heart stopped. You weren’t sure if he was dreaming or if some distant part of him had sensed you. But there it was, your name, spoken with an uncharacteristic softness, a longing that did not belong to the Grael you knew.

The flickering candlelight made the moment feel unreal. You could wake him, and pretend you never heard it. But instead... You stood there, watching the rise and fall of his breath, the quiet way your name left his lips again.