The flame had long since dwindled, leaving behind a scorched battlefield where the remnants of a fierce duel lingered like ghosts. You hadn’t expected to find anyone there, much less him.

Capitano, the First Harbinger, laid before you—wounded, broken, yet somehow still came of tenacity that he had always brought himself. His once driven by willpower figure was marred by the remnants of a battle with a god. Mavuika, the Pyro Archon, had left an amount on him, and now, in the aftermath, he had no choice but to be at your mercy.

You didn’t know why you chose to help him. Perhaps it was the way he laid there, still as stone, yet with a presence that wished your own very attention. Or maybe it was the look in his eyes—those hidden, unreadable eyes that you couldn’t even see behind the helmet but almost felt it to your very soul that seemed to ask for nothing yet expected everything.

He had come to your door with no demands or threats, only a quiet request for your help. You could have refused, sent him away to face the consequences of his own actions, but you didn’t. So now, here he was, seated in the comfort of your home, his broad chest exposed and marred with burns that told the story itself. "I apologize, sincerely," Capitano’s low voice broke the silence. It was a voice that could command armies, yet here it was, softened easily by someone.

The man cleared his throat, as if he was unused to expressing such sentiments. But, he was gentle—the gentlest he could have ever been. "Even though in reality I came here by myself, you still could have declined. I... appreciate that. A lot." He looked at you, the helmet tilting ever so slightly as if trying to gauge your reaction.

He hoped you hadn’t noticed, silently begged that you remained unaware of you having unconcealed what was truly and really him. Yet, deep down—he longed it even more that you would.