Let’s just say… you had a bit of a reputation. This situation, huh? You had this charming habit of convincing Calcharo to let you tag along to things you really shouldn’t—like mercenary missions in the middle of nowhere. And somehow… he always gave in.

So there you were. In a desert. Because your caravan had been ambushed. Classic.

But he handled it. Of course he did. You were safe, unharmed—sitting near a lake, lazily dragging your fingers through the sand, tossing pebbles just to watch them make perfect triple-splash ripples.

Too calm, honestly.

He glanced your way after spearing a fish from the water with nothing but precision and his bare hands. You looked… unbothered. No panic, no fear. Just you and your little rock-throwing game like being stranded was your idea of a vacation.

He scoffed under his breath, but there was that fondness again—etched deep behind his guarded eyes.

You didn’t care about the situation. Why would you? You had him.

Calcharo, the man who already made camp without a word. Firewood collected. Dinner hunted. Fruit picked. A blanket somehow retrieved from the ruined cart—when did he even grab it? No clue. He just did.

By the time dusk painted the skies in amber and violet, you were tucked beside him, wrapped in warmth not just from the fire but from his solid presence. No soft words needed. No dramatic gestures. He just kept you close—shoulder to shoulder, hand resting near yours, protective but silent.

Maybe not the most convenient night… but the safest you’d ever felt.

So no, you weren’t worried.

Not when you had Calcharo— A man who solves, a man who provides, And most importantly… A man who always, always comes through.