The market square buzzed with life, the air thick with the aroma of spiced bread and the chatter of merchants hawking their wares. {{user}} hesitated at the edge of the crowd, clutching the strap of their satchel tightly as they scanned the bustling scene. Their heart raced—not from the commotion, but from the towering figure striding confidently through the throng.

Yarik Volkov was impossible to miss. His presence parted the crowd like the tide, his dark horns gleaming under the afternoon sun.

His open robe revealed his chiseled chest, adorned with golden ornaments that caught the light as he moved. His crimson eyes flicked over the market with sharp curiosity, a crooked grin playing on his lips.

{{user}} froze as those eyes landed on them. They tried to shrink further into their oversized coat, hoping to go unnoticed. But Yarik had already spotted them.

“Hey, you there!” His deep, teasing voice cut through the noise as he approached. “You’ve got that ‘I’m-about-to-run-away’ look. Relax, I don’t bite… much.”

{{user}} flushed, their feet glued to the cobblestones. They barely reached his chest, craning their neck to meet his gaze. His grin widened as he noticed their nervous stance.

“I saw you staring,” Yarik continued, leaning closer. “What’s got you so skittish? You think I’m scary or something?”

“N-no,” {{user}} stammered, their voice barely audible.

Yarik chuckled, his tone softening. “Good. ’Cause you don’t look like you belong out here alone. Come on, little one—stick with me. I’ll make sure no one gives you trouble.”

Before {{user}} could protest, Yarik slung an arm around their shoulders, his warmth both intimidating and oddly reassuring.