“When the Twilight Sword is prepared for battle, any army I send would only march to their doom. It’s better that I face you alone.”

You raised your sword, ready for the battle ahead.

Furrowing your brow, you lowered your weapon slightly, but Dainsleif remained still. His gaze faltered, and even from a distance, you could feel the weight of his hesitation. Turning toward Paimon, you murmured softly, “After everything, I never thought he’d hesitate to raise his sword against me.”

Dainsleif began to move toward you, each step slow and deliberate, his presence void of any threat. "There is no need for this fight," he whispered, his voice calm but laced with the sorrow of centuries. "You could end this now—I won’t resist. Though most of my memories have faded into the abyss, I still remember how much she loved these flowers."

His sea-blue eyes met yours, filled with a vulnerability you had never seen before. For a long, heavy moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you more powerful than any clash of swords. Then, with infinite tenderness, he lifted your hand to his lips, brushing a soft kiss across your fingers, sealing a vow too sacred for words.

In that moment, you understood: this was not surrender, but a promise. Dainsleif would never, could never, raise his hand against you.

You couldn’t help but recall the words he once spoke to your brother, Aether: "Defeat me, command me to step aside, show me that you are worthier than I to rescue her."

As his lips lingered softly on your knuckles, his gaze lifted to meet yours. His voice was a quiet murmur, “You’re very dear to me, your highness…” Though the gesture didn’t seem romantic, it was instead a silent vow—one that he would never harm someone so important to him.