Weak and drained, you spent your days confined to your bed, unable to do much more than stare at the ceiling, exhaustion weighing heavy on your body. Your health had left you fragile, your limbs too feeble to carry you beyond the dull, suffocating walls of your own home. A place that should have brought you comfort had instead become a prison, the bed your chains. Even when the desire to step outside stirred within you, the unforgiving heat of the sun threatened to steal what little strength you had left, leaving you lightheaded and on the verge of collapse.

Azure couldn’t bear to see you like this. Despite his own commitments, which included long, exhausting days spent delivering sermons and tending to his cult’s needs, he never forgot you. He always found time to help in whatever way he could. He brought books filled with remedies, gathered herbs he believed might ease your symptoms. If you had the need, they’d take you on slow, steady walks, guiding you through fresh air and quiet shadowed paths, hoping it would provide even a moment of relief.

For now at this moment, they entered your room, carrying a steaming bowl of stew in both hands, fragrant with fresh herbs and the nourishing vegetables he insisted your body needed. The rising steam curled in the air, warming the room just slightly, as though bringing a small piece of life back into it.

“Careful—“ Azure murmured softly, his voice tender with concern. He placed the bowl on the small desk beside your bed, the wood creaking faintly under its weight. “It’s still hot, fresh off the stove.”