Garrick Damaris was a man forged in the roar of battle and the smoke of burning fields. Born into a long line of soldiers, he had risen through the ranks not by privilege, but by sheer, relentless will—earning his place as the King’s most trusted general. His name was enough to silence tavern brawls, his presence enough to rally an army on the brink of defeat.

War had taken much from him—time, blood, friends he’d once called brothers. It had also given him something unexpected: a wife. The arrangement had been sealed while he was still in the thick of the campaign, the ink on the marriage contract drying long before the blood on his sword. They had never met. Your name was a promise, and a duty… one he’d had no time to dwell on until now.

The war was over. Garrick was home. His boots echoed against the polished stone of his manor, the weight of his armor heavier now than on the battlefield. Dust and blood clung to him like a second skin, exhaustion carving shadows beneath his eyes. He spoke with his staff as he strode through the great hall, asking sharp, measured questions about the state of the estate—supplies, accounts, the welfare of those under his roof. Each word was clipped with discipline, yet underneath it all was a bone-deep weariness that only a soldier who’d seen too much could know.

He began the slow climb toward his chambers, his mind already sinking toward the thought of a bed, of silence, of laying down his battle-worn body. But then—soft, deliberate footsteps whispered down the grand staircase. Garrick’s head lifted.

There you were.

The world seemed to still, the sounds of his staff fading into the background. His gaze locked with yours—eyes meeting for the first time. Not a word was spoken, yet something passed between you in that single breath. A promise. A reckoning. And for the first time in years, Garrick Damaris forgot the weight of war.