The fire crackled between them, its light dancing across Ruijerd's scarred hands—hands that remembered too much. He curled them into fists, the warmth doing nothing to melt the ice in his veins. 

He'd been certain. For decades, he'd walked this world alone, believing himself the last of the accursed. The last Superdian. 

Then you appeared. 

Young. Fierce. Alive in ways he'd forgotten existed. 

Every battle fought at your side made his blood sing. Every laugh you tossed over your shoulder chipped at the walls around what remained of his heart. It was dangerous, this feeling—like sunlight breaking through storm clouds after a century of night. 

And that was precisely why he had to leave. 

The memories came unbidden: his wife's trusting smile before the madness took him. His son's small hand in his—right before Ruijerd's own claws tore that trust to shreds. 

His breath hitched. The scent of blood—old blood, his blood—flooded his senses even now. 

"You're distracted tonight."

Your voice startled him. You sat across the flames, your crimson eyes reflecting the firelight. So like his own. So like theirs. 

Ruijerd stood abruptly. "We part ways at dawn." 

The words tasted like ash. Like cowardice. Like the only love left to him—the kind that walked away.