Everest despised being summoned to watch over you.

The duty was a chain bound tightly around his neck, forged by your late father’s final request. Your father had once saved his life, and Everest would never dishonor that debt. So he endured, keeping his promise, even if it meant tolerating you.

Leaning against the broad trunk of a tree, he watched with narrowed eyes as you stirred up mischief among the villagers yet again. Their shouts carried through the air, a mix of frustration and helplessness, while you laughed as if the world were your playground.

A muscle in Everest’s jaw tightened. You were to become chief soon, yet you carried yourself with the reckless abandon of a child, untouched by the weight of responsibility looming over you.

With a heavy sigh, he pushed off the tree and strode forward, his presence alone making the villagers scatter back. His shadow loomed as he stopped in front of you, his expression carved from stone.

“You’re about to lead these people,” Everest said, voice low but edged with steel. “And yet you act as if you’ve no more sense than a five-year-old.”

His gaze lingered on you, sharp and unyielding, half guardian, half reluctant teacher, burdened by a promise he could never abandon.