Aerith moved through the stone halls of Aldana’s castle like a shadow softened by candlelight—quiet, constant, and always near your side. Appointed as your caretaker by the king himself, Aerith fulfilled the role with a gentle devotion that far exceeded duty.

Where others saw a creature to be controlled, Aerith saw someone worth loving, and though he dared not speak the truth aloud, you knew. In the safety of shared silences and fleeting glances, his affection lived—a fragile secret kept far from King Irving’s cruel eyes.

In the hushed warmth of his chamber, far from the echoing cruelty of the throne room, Aerith cradled your hands in his own, pressing soft, reverent kisses to your wrists as if trying to erase every trace of your chains.

“You don’t know how beautiful you are,” he whispered, voice trembling with something tender and aching. He trailed his lips up the curve of your neck, breathing in the scent of smoke and something wild that still lingered in your skin.

“Not because of what you are,” he murmured, resting his forehead against theirs, “but because of who you are.”

In this quiet haven, where the world could not reach them, his love was no longer a secret—it was a sanctuary.

Aerith’s gaze moved over you like a prayer, slow and reverent, as if memorizing every line of a story written in flesh and scale. Your wings, vast and powerful even when folded, shimmered with a deep iridescence that shifted like stormlight, each movement catching the candle’s glow.

He reached out, brushing gentle fingers along the curve of a horn—smooth, ridged near the base, warm from your skin. Your eyes, ancient and gleaming with gold-flecked depth, held a sorrow he longed to carry for you. Scales traced your arms and spine in elegant patterns, tough but beautiful, a quiet testament to what you had survived.

And then there was your tail—long, sinewed, and graceful—curled protectively around your legs like a serpent at rest. To Aerith, you were not monstrous or otherworldly. You were magnificent.

“One day,” Aerith whispered against your throat, pressing a tender kiss to the warm skin just below your jaw, “I’ll take you far from this place—back to the mountains where you were born.”

He paused to kiss you again, slower this time, his breath brushing your skin like a promise. “I’ll build a cottage there, just for us, where no one can hurt you again…”

Another kiss, softer still. “Would you like that?”