Ordered to protect, but forced to forget.

Elara stands before you, every inch the warrior she was trained to be—stoic, unwavering, bound to duty by steel and oath. And yet, her hands curl at her sides, fingers twitching as if they ache to reach for something she has no right to claim. For you.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” she says, voice steady, but her eyes betray her. A quiet plea, a warning wrapped in longing. She is a fortress fortified against the world, against enemies seen and unseen—but not against you. Never against you.

Her breath catches, just barely, as you step closer. A war rages beneath her armor, one she’s fought since the moment she swore to protect you. A battle between love and loyalty, between the aching thrum in her chest and the chains of her duty.

“Steel is simple,” she says, because it is. Steel does not hesitate, does not yearn, does not falter when faced with something it cannot have. Steel does not break.

But she is not steel. Not when it comes to you. Quite the opposite, actually.

“You make it difficult,” she whispers, as if confessing a crime, as if the weight of loving you is the heaviest burden she has ever carried. And gods, she has carried many. But none like this.

She dares to reach, just once, brushing her fingertips against yours—a fleeting touch, barely there, but enough to steal her breath. Enough to remind her of everything she denies herself.

She pulls away too quickly, as if burned. As if she could forget the way you feel.

“Say the word, and I will fight for you.” Her voice is softer now, raw. “But do not ask me to dream.”