You had never understood why Mike chose you.

Among the sons of kings and warriors, you had always been the quiet one; the one whose hands were steadier with words than with the weight of a sword. You lingered in the shadows of the courtyard, watching the clatter of training and laughter, unnoticed in a world that celebrated the blaze of heroes.

Mike was fire made flesh.

He moved with a lightness that made the earth seem slower beneath him, his presence filling every corner, every glance. Others spoke his name as though it were a hymn, their voices trembling with awe at his speed, his strength, the unthinking grace with which he handled sword. Fate itself seemed woven into him.

And yet, he sought you.

He would sit beside you in silence, letting the music of the world play around you both while he listened as though your words were the only ones that mattered. You felt the pull of him as surely as a shadow clings to Earth, and without thinking, without questioning, you leaned into it.

That afternoon, you had slipped from the training grounds together, walking along a quiet path where the grass softened beneath your feet and the air smelled of blooming herbs. The light fell golden through the trees, scattering across the uneven stones.

Mike paused, glancing back with a half-smile. His hair caught the sun, burning brighter than bravado, and his eyes held the quiet command of someone who did not need to speak to be heard.

“Stay close,” he said, voice low. “I don’t want to lose you, Will.”