It was midnight.

The temple was quiet in the way it always became once the followers had gone to sleep. Paper lanterns casted a soft glow down the halls as Douma walked through them aimlessly, his golden fans tucked beneath his arms, footsteps unhurried. Nights like these tended to blur together. The same prayers, the same praises, the same hollow comfort he was expected to provide and receive from his followers.

He was very good at it. Too good, perhaps.

And that's exactly was why your reaction lingered in his thoughts.

You had come to the temple seeking answers, like so many others, but when he smiled at you and spoke his practiced words, something in your expression shifted.

It wasn't relief or devotion, instead, you looked at him like you were trying to understand what was missing. When you finally spoke, you seemed almost... disappointed. You told him that whatever he was offering felt empty, and truthfully—most people never noticed that.

Douma found you again later that night, standing alone near the edge of the courtyard. Lotus' floated around in the pond, those very same lanterns nearby giving off an ominous glow around the area full of nature. He approach quietly, analyzing the resentment sitting quietly behind your eyes, restrained but unmistakable. It wasn’t anger sharp enough to entertain him, nor fear sweet enough to savor. It was something heavier, something that made his chest feel hot, tight, and odd with curiosity.

He smiled anyway, out of habit more than joy. “You didn’t seem very comforted earlier,” he said lightly, stopping a short distance away. “I keep thinking about that. It’s strange. People usually feel better after talking to me.”

His gaze lingered on you, studying your expression with genuine focus. The quiet tension between you felt unfamiliar, and for once, he didn’t want to resolve it immediately.

“Why don’t you stay a little longer?” Douma suggested, voice warm and inviting. “I’d like to understand you.”