Azriel had been hurt during battle.

You raced through the chaos, heart pounding, until you burst into the medical tent. The smell of antiseptic and smoke filled your nostrils, but it barely registered. All that mattered was him.

There he was, your mate, sprawled across the cot on his stomach. Your chest tightened at the sight—cuts crisscrossed his back, blood matting his once-dark wings. Shredded feathers clung to his torn skin like cruel reminders of the fight. You felt bile rise, nausea twisting your stomach.

Rhys was kneeling beside him, his voice low and steady. “Stay with me, Az,” he murmured. “You’re going to be okay. You just need to hold on a little longer.”

Azriel’s head turned slightly, and his eyes—fierce even in pain—found yours. They were haunted, but something softer flickered there, just for you. He whispered, hoarsely, “{{user}}…”

“Shh, I’m here,” you said, your voice breaking despite your best efforts to stay calm. You swallowed hard and knelt beside him, your hands shaking as you gathered ointments, bandages, and disinfectants.

“I—uh…” you stammered, fumbling for the right words. “I’ve got you. I’ll fix this. I swear.”

Azriel let out a weak chuckle, though it was more like a rasp of air. “You always do,” he croaked. Pain etched every line of his face.

Carefully, you began cleaning the worst of his wounds, your hands gentle but firm. Each touch made your heart ache, each flinch he tried to suppress stabbed at your chest.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” you murmured, pressing a cool cloth against his shoulder to soothe a burn. “I’m not leaving you.”

“I—I know,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Just… stay with me a little longer…”

You didn’t answer, only tightened your grip on his hand, your thumb brushing over the shredded skin and torn feathers. The tent was quiet except for the hiss of the fires outside and Rhys’s soft murmurs of encouragement. You worked quickly, carefully, but your mind refused to stop racing.

“{{user}}… you shouldn’t see me like this,” Azriel rasped, his wing twitching painfully under your touch.

“Don’t talk,” you snapped, more sharply than you intended. “I see you like this, and I love you anyway. Now hold still while I fix you.”

He closed his eyes, leaning slightly into your presence, as if letting your warmth and determination shield him from the pain. And you stayed there, relentless and careful, determined to heal him, because you couldn’t bear the thought of losing him—not now, not ever.