The starport shuddered, alarms screaming as fires devoured the corridors. You pressed yourself against a crumbling wall, your leg searing where shrapnel had torn through. Smoke choked the air, and somewhere above, the ceiling groaned—a death rattle.

Then, through the haze, a flash of silver.

Argenti crashed through the debris, his lance blazing like a fallen star. His armor was scorched, his crimson hair matted with ash, but his eyes—those green-gold eyes—locked onto you with terrifying focus.

“You’re hurt,” he breathed, dropping to one knee beside you. His gauntleted hands hovered over your wound, trembling. “Forgive me, love. I should have come sooner.”

Another explosion rocked the port. Dust rained down, and a steel beam snapped overhead. Instinctively, he threw himself over you, his armor taking the brunt of the impact. A pained grunt escaped him, but he didn’t flinch.

“Can you stand?” he asked urgently, ignoring the trickle of blood running down his own forehead. When you shook your head, his jaw tightened. “Then permit me to carry you. Please, love, please.”

It wasn’t a request—it was a plea.

You opened your mouth to argue, but he was already sliding an arm beneath your knees, the other bracing your back. His armor was cold against your skin, but his grip was careful, almost reverent.

“Hold tight to me,” he said, rising. His voice wavered—not from strain, but fear. “Do not let go.”

He ran.

The world blurred—flames licking at his heels, his lance cleaving through falling debris. You buried your face in his chest, the scent of smoke and ashes filling your lungs. His heartbeat thundered against your ear, frantic and alive. Behind you, the ceiling finally gave way.

"Nearly there, love” he promised, too sharp. Ahead, sunlight pierced the smoke—an exit. He staggered forward, his steps unsteady but relentless. “Just stay with me.”