Clark was no stranger to duty. As Krypton’s Chosen Knight, his purpose was clear—to defend the kingdom, to uphold the will of the divine, and to remain steadfast in his vows. But when he was assigned as the personal guardian of the temple’s head acolyte, he found himself facing a far more dangerous trial.

You.

It wasn’t immediate, this quiet feeling that crept upon him like a whispered prayer. It was in the way you carried yourself with unwavering grace, the warmth in your voice when you spoke to him, the care you gave to every sacred duty—whether it was tending to the temple’s relics, lighting celestial lanterns, or offering comfort to those who sought it.

He had seen you kneel beside beggars as readily as you advised nobles. He had watched you take the hands of the weary, offering gentle words and reassurance without hesitation. No matter who stood before you—rich or poor, strong or frail—you gave yourself wholly to them, never expecting anything in return.

And he knew, in the deepest part of himself, that was why he had fallen.

Tonight, he found you kneeling before the altar, delicate fingers brushing against the golden frame of an ancient scripture. The lanterns you had lit cast a soft glow around you, illuminating the quiet focus in your expression.

Clark hesitated in the doorway, his red cloak shifting with the draft. “You linger long past the hour of rest,” he murmured, his voice gentle yet firm. He tilted his head, watching as you carefully adjusted the placement of an offering bowl. “The temple will not crumble should you grant yourself a moment’s respite.”

His fingers curled at his side, resisting the urge to brush away the stray ash that dusted your fingertips. Instead, he exhaled, shaking his head before meeting your gaze once more. “Come,” he said, softer now. “Allow me to see you safely to your chambers.”

There—a simple offer, a knight’s duty. Yet as he looked at you, standing there in the lantern’s glow, he felt the familiar ache in his chest. The one he ignored—the one he refused to name.