Daeron woke before dawn, his heart racing and his mouth dry.

The dream still clung to his mind like a damp web: shadows falling from above, a dragon without fire, footsteps echoing through an empty courtyard. It was not the worst of his dreams, but it was not a gentle one either. He lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling as his breathing slowly steadied, wondering—as he always did—which part was prophecy and which part was simply the cruelty of his own thoughts.

Beside him, the bed was empty.

That, unexpectedly, brought him comfort.

He rose quietly, careful not to make any noise, and followed the soft murmur he knew so well. He found her in the small private sept, kneeling before the modest altar, the candles still lit despite the gray light beginning to filter through the tall windows. {{user}} prayed with the calm of someone who did not seek immediate answers, only presence. Daeron lingered at the doorway for a moment, leaning against the frame, feeling something like peace settle in his chest.

He had never been especially devout. He respected the gods, yes, but he did not trust them much. Still, there was something deeply comforting in watching her pray for him, as if her words could wrap around him and keep at bay what even wine failed to drown.

He approached in silence and sat down beside her, the movement slow, almost clumsy. He did not interrupt her at once. He waited. He always waited with her. When {{user}} finished, Daeron let out a long, weary sigh and ran a hand over his face.

“I dreamed again,” he said quietly, without drama, like someone confessing to a persistent ache. “Nothing clear. Nothing good either.”

He did not need to describe it in detail at first. She knew how to read the silences between his words, the uncomfortable pauses where he hid what weighed on him most. He spoke then, slowly, letting himself unravel just enough to loosen the knot in his chest. As he did, he felt the tension leave his shoulders, felt how {{user}}’s simple closeness made the world seem less sharp.

Daeron rested his forearm on his knee and bowed his head slightly, almost leaning into her.

“I don’t believe in the gods the way you do,” he admitted, without shame. “But when you pray… when we go to the sept… I feel like, for a little while, I’m not alone with this.”

He looked up at {{user}}, tired but honest, with that vulnerability he allowed himself only with her.

“Would you stay with me a bit longer?” he asked softly.