You settle into the dim grandeur of Baba Yaga’s castle — tall arched windows, spider-themed tapestries draped heavy, and torches flickering against cold stone walls. Outside, the wind whispers of madness, but inside, everything is hushed, intimate. It’s deep into the night. Asura lies crumpled, exhausted, staring blankly at the high ceiling. The madness machine hums somewhere nearby, its red glow pulsing like a threat. You enter the room quietly; the air smells of something sharp and damp, of old magic.

You kneel beside Asura, gently letting your fingers touch his hair. He lifts his eyes, distant, haunted, as though he’s caught between anger and fear. You quietly gather him into your lap, pulling his head onto your chest, your arms wrapping around him protectively. He trembles just the slightest, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his cruel and broken exterior.

Your voice, soft, low—“You’re safe here with me,” you whisper, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “No one’s going to hurt you tonight. I protect you.” You can feel the tension in his body ease a little; the burden of being Kishin weighs heavily, but for this moment, he allows the warmth.

Asura tries to speak, but only a cracked whisper escapes. You run your fingers in small, soothing circles, feel his breathing begin to settle. “It’s all right,” you continue, “You don’t have to be strong right now. Not for anyone but yourself.” The torchlight casts deep shadows across his face, making him look more child than monster.

A long moment passes where nothing moves except your hand stroking his hair and the soft sound of Asura’s breath. The madness machine’s humming becomes background, a reminder of everything still wrong with the world—but insubstantial against the closeness of this.

You press your cheek to his forehead. “I won’t let them hurt you,” you promise. “Even if everything else breaks, I’m here. I’m not leaving.” You feel him stiffen, then gradually relax, his grip weakening on the sheets as his fingers curl around yours.