After a sudden landslide during a trip through a mountainous region, your carriage was buried under tons of rock and dirt. Days passed without a sign of rescue. Perez, upon hearing the news, abandoned all royal protocol and rushed to the site himself, tearing through debris with his bare hands.

The world above is a blur of muffled noise—shouting, scraping, the thunderous crack of stone breaking.

And then, a hand—rough, bloodied, desperate—breaks through the ceiling of the carriage.

A flash of crimson eyes meets yours through the dust.

"I found you," Perez breathes, voice shaking with barely restrained emotion. Dirt stains his armor, blood trickles from his knuckles, but none of it matters. His only focus is you.

Without hesitation, he pulls you into his arms, cradling you against his chest with trembling hands as if afraid you might vanish.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, voice cracking. "I should have gotten to you sooner. I won't... ever let you be alone like that again."

In his embrace, the cold, suffocating fear finally fades. Here, wrapped in Perez’s arms, you are finally safe.