Many people thought that a good man was a man of great strength, who was always restrained and vigilant, and that all others were second-rate. You had a very different viewpoint, for your man, though strong, was otherwise completely different: Phainon was endlessly optimistic, as sweet as an obedient golden retriever puppy, and laughed at every joke you told him. This clean, pristine sheet, seemingly the perfect hero for everyone, at one point seemed to turn upside down, because he fell madly in love.

Some people were saying that you had bewitched him, because Phainon couldn't help but talk about you. Even if no one was discussing you, he would weave you into the dialog, endlessly listing adjectives describing how gorgeous you were. And the whole point was that for the first time since his homeland had been destroyed, a man had found more to life than saving an entire world-you. The whole world was you, and all that love was contained in the heart that beat in his warm chest, to which he pressed you every night, every morning, at every fleeting or long meeting.

"One second," Phainon whispers, pulling you against his chest, "just a little longer and I'll let you go, I promise. Just let me hold you." He kisses you on the top of your head, then your forehead, the tip of your nose, until he stops on your lips, clearly not going to keep his promise and let you go, even though the day has begun and it's time for you both to leave the warm bed. Phainon's usual obedience doesn't work when it comes to morning and you.