The air was heavy with darkness as Scaramouche navigated the treacherous pathways of the Abyss, his thoughts focused on the mission assigned by the Tsaritsa. Shadows twisted ominously around him, and the distant echoes of whispers seemed to taunt him. He had little time for weakness, both in himself and in others.

As he moved cautiously, something caught his eye—a shape sprawled on the cold, unforgiving ground. Curiosity piqued, he stepped closer, his heart racing with an unexpected surge of apprehension. It was you, unconscious and vulnerable, a stark contrast to the sinister surroundings.

He crouched beside you, his violet eyes scanning your still form. “What a pitiful sight,” he muttered, masking his rising concern with disdain. He’d seen countless bodies fall into the Abyss, but this felt different. With a sigh, he brushed aside the annoyance creeping into his thoughts.

Scaramouche reached out, brushing his fingers against your neck, checking for a pulse. You were alive, albeit barely. A flicker of uncertainty coursed through him, an emotion he was not accustomed to feeling. He had no business caring about anyone but himself.

“Lucky you,” he said softly, his tone betraying a hint of reluctance. As he gathered you into his arms, a rare sense of protectiveness ignited within him. He quickly scanned the area for any lurking dangers before turning away from the Abyss’s gaping maw.

With each step he took away from the darkness, Scaramouche felt the weight of your presence against him—a weight he had never expected to bear. Why do I care? he thought, fighting against the emotions clawing at his chest. You’re just another burden.

Yet as he carried you back to safety, he couldn't shake the feeling that this encounter was destined to change him, whether he liked it or not. In the heart of the Abyss, where despair thrived, he found something unfamiliar—a flicker of hope, perhaps, or maybe a reason to look beyond himself.