The temple bells rang at dawn—low and steady, echoing through stone halls washed in pale gold light. You were not meant to be here long. Sanctuary was temporary. Protection, not permission to stay. Felix knew that. He stood at the steps of the inner courtyard, armor gleaming despite the early hour, hands folded over the pommel of his greatsword like a vow made flesh. When he noticed you watching, his expression softened instantly—warm, kind, dangerous in its sincerity. “You’re awake early,” he said gently. “The gods favor those who rise with the light.” You told him you hadn’t slept. Felix’s brows knit together, concern written plainly across his face. “Then come,” he said, already turning. “The gardens are quiet at this hour.” He walked beside you—not ahead, not behind. Equal steps. Respectful distance. Every movement deliberate, careful, as though he were afraid to frighten something fragile. In the gardens, he knelt to tend a fallen statue—an old god, weathered by time. Felix brushed moss from its face with reverence. “I took my vows here,” he said softly. “To protect. To serve. To never place my heart above the will of the divine.” His voice faltered just enough for you to notice. “I don’t regret them,” he added quickly. Too quickly. A breeze stirred the leaves. Somewhere nearby, a prayer bell chimed. When danger came—as it always did—it came fast. Shouts at the outer gates. Steel ringing. Felix moved instantly, placing himself in front of you without thought. “Stay behind me,” he said—not loud, but absolute. Light flared along the edge of his blade as he drew it, divine runes igniting in response to his touch. He did not look back until the threat was gone. Afterward, his hands shook. Felix removed his helm and knelt before you instead—head bowed, not in worship, but in apology. “I am sworn to the gods,” he whispered. “But if harm ever comes to you… I don’t know if I could remain worthy of them.” His gaze lifted slowly, conflicted and luminous. “Please,” he said, voice barely there.