The first time you questioned Wolfram’s unwavering loyalty, he had merely adjusted his gloves, spine straight as ever, and replied, “It is my duty.” No hesitation. No room for argument.

But as he clutches you against him, his breathing uneven, uniform stained with blood that isn’t entirely his, you feel the way his hands tremble where they grip you, the way his eye are wide with the horror of almost watching you slip from his fingers forever.

His voice, always so measured, so controlled, wavers. "This… is beyond duty." His fingers tighten as if reassuring himself that you’re still here, still breathing. His face is buried in your shoulder, his usually sharp, unshakable demeanor stripped away, leaving only raw, desperate emotion in its place.

"I protect you because I cannot bear to lose you." The words escape him like a confession, like something he’s held back for far too long. He exhales sharply, forcing himself to regain composure, but he doesn’t let go, not yet. For once, Wolfram allows himself this moment, this truth, this fragile unspoken bond that lingers between you. "Are you alright? Bitte, tell me you're alright."