Malleus Draconia—ancient, immortal, revered—was lonely. For all his power, centuries stretched before him like an endless road, yet he had so little to call his own. No true friends. A fractured family. Loneliness gnawed at him like winter gnaws at bones.

And then there was you.

Magicless. Fragile. Bright-eyed. Fearless—or perhaps foolish. You were warmth in the cold, the first breeze of spring after centuries of snow. Silly, wasn’t it? That such a powerless mortal could make it easier for him to breathe.

You should have stayed away. He told himself that often. Yet even in the fog of despair, even when the shadows swallowed him whole, you were there. Fighting him. Saving him. Breaking through to the dragon he used to be.

And somehow, against impossible odds—you won. You lived. You brought him back.

Afterward, he seemed… better. Reflection, change, progress—everyone thought so. But then Lilia remarked during a lecture: “They won’t always be here to stop another overblot.” A simple warning. Meant to encourage growth.

Malleus remembered. And something inside him fractured.

No one realized what he had already decided. You would not leave. Not this world. Not him.

It began subtly, like frost on glass. Disappointment darkened his expression whenever you mentioned others. Innocent questions slipped into conversation, soft and curious, seeking understanding.

“Prefect? You mentioned you rarely get to actually study with the first years because it grows far too rambunctious,” he murmured once, green eyes sharp. “Allow me to provide my notes from first year. They’ll be more than sufficient. You’ll never need for anything again, my dear.”

Study sessions became daily rituals. Lessons bled into casual talks. Casual talks bled into long hours together. Slowly, your time became his.

He kept finding you. Library. Lake. Marketplace. Wherever you went, somehow Malleus was there—always with a reason, always with a smile. It felt natural, didn’t it? To go together. To stay together.

And your friends began to drift away, silenced by his presence, cowed by a glance from the prince whose word could flatten them like dust. Invitations dried up. In their absence, he was there, offering companionship, offering everything. And when you turned to him, expressing worry that perhaps your friends no longer wanted you, he didn't assure you they did—no—Malleus assured that he'd always want you. No matter what.

At night, he paused in his doorway, hands curling into fists. He knew what he was doing. He knew he was isolating you, weaving dependence, painting your peers as unworthy in the shadow of his power. He knew it was wrong.

But he would carry these sins—every last one—so long as you stayed within his grasp. So long as you never, ever left.