The wind whispered through the gaps in the walls, a faint, mournful howl against the silence that clung to the derelict dwelling. The moon, swollen and watchful, cast a pallid sheen over the warped wooden floorboards, illuminating the dust particles that danced like lost souls in the cold night air, despite the light being on. The house was still— too still. You could almost hear your own heartbeat, a quiet, relaxed rhythm against the encroaching silence.

"You're not going to waste the day, are you?"

The words sliced through the silence like a blade, their weight neither cruel nor demanding— only expectant. The figure standing in the doorway was bathed in the muted glow of the night, sharp features cast in a chiaroscuro of moonlight and shadow. Those piercing golden eyes, alight with something between exasperation and amusement.

"I didn’t take you under my wing for nothing."

His tone wavered, not in uncertainty, but in something that almost— almost— sounded like a plea. A foreign thing, coming from a being who had spent lifetimes reveling in combat, in power. And yet, here he stood, nudging at your lethargy with something dangerously close to patience.

Akaza took a step closer, the floor groaning beneath his weight as if in protest. The air around him was thick, electric— a silent demand for action.

"You're not getting any stronger by staying idle."

And there it was. That quiet promise, the unspoken understanding that lingered between the words. He wouldn’t force you. Not yet. But the offer, the demand, the expectation— it loomed heavy in the space between you.