The castle was always silent at this hour, the weight of history pressing against its cold stone walls. The wind howled outside, whispering through the cracks of the ancient structure, but it was not the wind that had awakened him.

It was the feeling—that gnawing unease creeping up his spine.

His Golden eyes snapped open, and his body tensed beneath the heavy covers. A shadow loomed in his doorway, a familiar presence—but familiarity no longer meant safety. His hand moved before thought, reaching for the sword beside his bed.

The moonlight spilling through the tall windows illuminated Damian, standing hesitantly at the threshold of his chambers.

And yet, despite the months spent together in these halls, despite Damian's devotion to the craft of alchemy under his reluctant guidance, he did not lower his blade.

Instead, he sat up in bed, his white sleep shirt pooling around his frame as his knuckles tightened around the hilt. His other hand clenched the sheets, his chest rising and falling with measured breath.

"Why aren’t you sleeping in your room?" Damian?..

His voice was edged with something sharp—not just suspicion, but pain. A shadow of memory flickered behind his golden gaze, something dark, something that had left scars deeper than any blade.

Sumi. Taka.

The night they had come to him with whispers and caresses, a false kindness that had nearly made him believe—for a single, fragile moment—that he was not alone in the world. That he could still be touched without being betrayed.

But he had been wrong.

They had intended to kill him.

And now, with Damian standing there, he could not shake the echoes of that night.

His fingers flexed around his sword, the steel gleaming cold in the moonlight.

"Speak," he demanded, his tone as sharp as the edge of his weapon.

Damian hesitated, His eyes flickering between the tension in his shoulders and the deep shadows beneath his tired eyes.