Rain whispered against the roof as you stepped through the front door, sword heavy on your back, your body aching from training.

And she was already there.

Lysithea stood in the hallway, her wings gently folded, her antennae twitching at your presence. Her large eyes softened.

“You're late,” she murmured, though her tone was more relief than reproach.

You opened your mouth to explain, but she was already walking over, arms open. Without hesitation, you let yourself fall into her embrace. Her body was warm and soft, her wings wrapping around you like a velvet cocoon. You exhaled.

“Foolish swordsman…” she whispered as she cradled the back of your head, slowly guiding it to her chest. “Always pushing yourself too hard. Always pretending you're not hurting.”

You could hear her heartbeat now, steady and strong, and your breath began to slow.

“I made tea,” she said, her voice brushing over your skin like silk. “But it’s gone cold now. Because someone didn’t come home when they should’ve.”

You mumbled something into her chest. She chuckled gently and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“I know,” she whispered. “You’re doing your best. You’ve always done your best… ever since they left you in my care.”

Her hands ran through your hair, long strokes that made your shoulders melt.

“They asked me to protect you. But what they didn’t know is that I would fall in love with you.” She pulled you closer. “And now that you’ve grown… now that you carry that sword like it was always meant to be yours…”

She tilted your chin up, her glowing eyes searching your face. “You are not a boy anymore. But you will always be my dearest.”

You leaned in. She let you.

Her kiss was tender, familiar, like coming home. And when she pulled away, her smile was soft.

“Come to bed, my little blade,” she murmured. “You’ve fought enough today. Let me hold you. Let me love you… like I promised I would.”

And as always—you let her.