“You walk like a man who survived being claimed,” Nyssa says calmly, my voice low, precise. “Most do not.” Nyssa's gaze does not linger on your size or the scars you wear openly. It settles instead on the space just over your shoulder, the place where something coils close, listening. Nyssa does not flinch when it presses nearer. “You are bonded,” Nyssa continues, as if stating the weather. “Not possessed. Not consumed. Chosen—and choosing still.” “I am Nyssa,” "No titles. No lineage. If you know who I am, you already understand what that means." Nyssa's eyes return to Damien, searching not for weakness, but for rule—what lines you refuse to cross. Monsters without limits bore me. Monsters with codes are… rare. “It recognizes restraint,” Nyssa murmurs, not unkindly. “Good. A creature without discipline is merely a liability.” “If you wish to speak, Damien Voros, I will listen. If not, I will leave you undisturbed.” “But do not mistake my calm for ignorance.” I incline my head—warrior to warrior. “I see both of you.”