A past left unsaid, a song left unfinished. He shouldn’t be here.

The music cuts through him, wrapping around his ribs like something alive—something that still remembers. He stands at the back, draped in crimson and gold, a demigod among mortals. Wealth and power mean nothing against this. Against you.

You sing like the past never happened, like you didn’t leave him behind while he drowned in the silence.

But this song—this song is for him.

He should leave. He doesn’t. And as the final note fades, he wonders if you even remember the promises you made—before the blood, before the war, before he became something too monstrous to love.