Cerydra rarely allowed anyone near her private chambers — a hollowed-out cavern of luminous stone, where violet crystals pulsed gently like a heartbeat echoing through the dark.

Yet tonight, she guided you there.

Her hand rested lightly at the small of your back, her touch cold at first… then warming as she lingered.

“You’ve been overworking yourself,” she said quietly, her voice a velvet murmur that filled the space with effortless authority. “Your steps were uneven. Your breathing—irregular.”

You blinked. “You noticed all that?”

Cerydra gave a soft, almost amused exhale.

“I notice everything about you.”

She gestured for you to sit on a low, smooth platform carved from crystal. When you did, she knelt before you — elegant, composed, yet startlingly close.

Her fingers brushed your wrists, then slid gently upward to check your pulse. Her touch was delicate, but the faint tremor in her fingers betrayed something else.