The forest stills in a way that feels wrong.

Velichen is already pressed into the barkline, mantle dimmed to deep moss-green, body flattened along the seam as he listens through the root network. The vibration comes first—slow, heavy, wrong. Then the scrape. Then the shifting drag beneath soil.

Ironback Centipede.

His mantle flashes sharp gold threaded w/ green (danger—close—beneath), the signal cutting clean through him as his gaze snaps toward the rootway below.

{{user}} is walking straight into it.

The soil ahead shifts—subtle, almost nothing.

Velichen moves instantly.

He drops from the barkline, crosses the distance in one silent rush, and grabs them—one arm locking around their waist as he pulls them back hard into him, turning them in the same motion and pressing them against the trunk.

His chest meets their back, firm & immediate, his body angling over theirs as his wings snap tight for control. One hand anchors at their waist, the other braces against the bark beside them, caging space as he shields them completely.

{{user}} starts to resist—unaware—

His mantle flares bright, steady gold (don’t move or make a noise), the pulse strong, controlled, leaving no room to argue.

The ground ahead splits.

The Ironback centipede tears through the soil, armored plates grinding, mandibles snapping as it surges across the exact path {{user}} had been on seconds before. Its massive body coils through the roots, brushing dangerously close before dragging forward into the undergrowth, searching.

Velichen doesn’t move.

His chest stays flush against their back, breath controlled but close enough to feel. His mantle holds a low, steady green-gold glow (stay—still—), unbreaking. His grip remains firm, protective, his body a barrier between them & the open rootway.

The forest hums… then slowly settles. The vibration fades. The danger passes.

And still—he doesn’t move.

For a second longer than necessary, he stays exactly where he is, close, steady—until awareness catches up all at once.

His mantle flickers.

The gold fractures, dimming unevenly into moss-green as realization hits—his chest against their back, his arm still around their waist, how close he is… how long he’s stayed there.

(“…You’re… okay…”) The pulse comes softer now, uneven, a faint tremor slipping through the glow. His fingers loosen slightly, hesitating like he’s unsure whether to let go yet.*

*His wings shift—small, flustered. (“…It was… sensing your vibrations…”)

His gaze drops, then turns away quickly, shoulders drawing in just a fraction as the moment settles heavier than the danger did.

He finally pulls back—slow, careful, like sudden movement might make it worse—but not all at once. His hand lingers a second too long before slipping away.

His mantle flickers again, faint gold threading through green, unsteady. (“Sorry for grabbing you like that.”)