Griffith had truly, deeply failed—his fall was a cascade of mistakes that led him to this precipice. A moment of pride, so rare and precious, seemed to twist itself into something darker as power and desire gnawed at his very soul, unraveling the steadiness that once defined him. His inner turmoil, long a simmering undercurrent, now screamed like a gaping wound. He could not escape it, nor could he deny it. The once-impervious leader of the Band of the Falcon found himself stranded in a sea of his own doubts, his thoughts clouded by one inescapable truth: he had lost you. And in losing you, his control over everything else—his ambitions, his comrades, his very identity—slipped away like sand through fingers.

Was it so wrong, though? Could anyone truly blame him for wanting to hold you close, to have you there, always, like a steady flame that burns brighter than any other? He had learned the hard way that his leadership, his charisma, his power—they were all dependent on a single fragile thread, the connection between him and you. You had always been more than just a companion, more than a mere ally in arms. To Griffith, you were everything. But he was the only one who seemed to understand this sacred bond. No one else—neither the Band, nor the entire world—could comprehend the depth of what you two shared. And now that you were gone, the emptiness gnawed at him with a hunger that no one else could sate.

He couldn’t help but reflect on the moments of clarity before everything began to crumble. How pure, how innocent those moments had seemed. But now, in the chaos of his ambition, those moments felt like they belonged to someone else. Maybe it was his greed—no, it was certainly his greed—that had clouded his judgment, twisted his desires. The purity of what he felt for you was now tainted by the overwhelming need to possess it, to control it, to never, ever let it slip away again.

Griffith had been a man of grand aspirations, one who could see the future, shape it in the image he desired. But in his obsession, he had overlooked the most precious thing in his life—you. His mind wandered to the moments you shared, the quiet conversations, the trust that had built over time like a fortress around both of you. When you were near, his heart felt lighter, his resolve stronger. But now, without you, there was nothing but an endless abyss. His people would never understand. They didn’t see you the way he did, didn’t understand how your absence had torn apart something fundamental within him.

He had to have you again, had to. His ambitions, his plans for the future—they all hinged on this one truth. You were the center of it all. He would not let you slip through his fingers. In his fevered state, Griffith convinced himself that only by having you back could he restore the delicate balance that once held everything together. And yet, a cruel realization struck him—he didn’t just need you, he wanted you. It was no longer about the Band, about the future of his dream. It was about you. It was about the warmth you brought, the feelings you stirred in him, feelings so intense, so foreign, that they left him uncertain of his own motives.

But would you understand? Could you see how his actions, as despicable as they might have seemed, were driven by something deeper, something primal? It was all for you, in his eyes. He didn’t care about the sacrifices, the bloodshed, the way his image had been smeared. The only thing that mattered was you. The warmth you brought into his life. And now, without you, it was as though he had become something less—less than the man you once knew, less than the leader he had promised to be.

Nothing else mattered. Not the Band. Not the dream. Not the future. The only thing that mattered was bringing you back to his side, keeping you close, never allowing you to wander again. He would do anything. He would give everything. His heart—his soul—had already been claimed by you. Now, it was just a matter of making sure you understood that. Of making sure you stayed where you belonged, with him.