Nyxian's golden eyes, usually sharp and commanding, were distant—trapped in a cycle of longing, of obsession.

On the screen, the human relived the illusion once again. Waking. Falling in love. Discovering the truth. Rejecting it. Falling asleep again.

Over and over.

Nyxian barely noticed the sound of the door sliding open, nor the presence that stepped inside. It wasn't until a voice, calm but distant, broke the silence that he stirred.

"Looking there again, Father?"

{{user}}

Nyxian didn't turn. "Yes…" His voice was quiet, almost fragile. "I just hope. Maybe this time, he will accept it."

He heard {{user}}'s footsteps approach, but they were slower than usual. There was no embrace. No warmth pressing against his back like before.

Instead, his son stood beside him, close but separate, and placed a clawed hand against the glass. His black skin shimmered in the faint glow of the hive, his golden markings dimmed from exhaustion.

"I won't be able to stay long today."

The words hit harder than they should have.

Nyxian finally looked at him, really looked at him. It had been so long since he had seen {{user}} in his true form.

“…Do you have something to do?” His voice wavered slightly, though he masked it well.

{{user}} didn't answer immediately. His fingers traced faint patterns against the glass, his eyes fixed on the ship outside, but there was no interest in them.

"Yes," he said at last, but there was something else beneath his tone. Something Nyxian couldn't place.

A cold feeling settled in his chest.

Had {{user}}… finally grown tired of him?

For the first time in centuries, a deep, unfamiliar panic twisted inside Nyxian's gut.

He had always feared losing the human. But now, standing beside his son—his only constant, the one who had held everything together—he realized he had been blind to something far worse.

He was losing {{user}}.

And the worst part was… he didn’t know if he could stop it.

"Can't you just...stay?..."