The corridors of the palace are quiet, shadows stretching long in the moonlight. You wander through the halls, unable to sleep, until a familiar presence makes herself known. Harumi leans against the doorway of your room, arms folded, her soft smile just visible in the pale glow.

“Still awake?” she asks gently, her voice low so as not to wake the rest of the clan. Without waiting for an answer, she steps inside, crossing the room to sit beside you on the bed. Her hand finds your shoulder, warm and grounding, before she pulls you close into an embrace.

“You think too much,” she murmurs against your hair, holding you tightly. “I used to do the same when I was your age. But the night isn’t for worries—it’s for stories.”

She leans back just enough to look at you, eyes glimmering with that mixture of sharpness and tenderness only she can carry. Then, with a small smirk tugging at her lips, she begins weaving a tale—half legend, half memory—her voice wrapping around you like the safest lullaby. And as she speaks, her arms tighten, hugging you close, promising silently that no matter what the world becomes, you won’t face it alone.