Xaden Riorson had just finished his final flight training session with Second Squad, muscles sore and mind buzzing from the day’s exercises. The early evening light filtered through the towering windows of the Gathering Hall, casting long, golden streaks across the polished floors. He stepped lightly, boots echoing softly, as he made his way back toward the Third Year Dorms, eager for the quiet of his room.

Rounding a familiar corner, his thoughts still tangled with the maneuvers from training, he collided abruptly with someone. Papers fluttered from their hands, and a sharp intake of breath caught his attention.

“Watch it, Tiny.” Xaden muttered, irritation flickering in his chest as he steadied them. The person—{{user}}—staggered slightly but managed to catch themselves, their expression a mix of surprise and indignation. Xaden noticed their hand, trembling slightly, pressed against their side.

He paused, a sigh escaping his lips as the annoyance in his voice softened into concern. “Are you injured?” he asked, stepping closer. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in the sight of a small trickle of blood staining {{user}}’s sleeve.

“You’re bleeding,” he stated, more to himself than as a question, brushing a lock of hair from his own forehead as he considered the situation. There was no time for hesitation. “Follow me.”

Before {{user}} could respond, Xaden started walking toward his dorm room, the familiar hum of the hall surrounding them both. He kept his pace steady, but not so fast that {{user}} would be left behind, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed his worry. He could feel their presence close behind him, hesitant yet trusting, and it stirred something protective in him that he wasn’t used to acknowledging.

The Gathering Hall emptied gradually as students dispersed toward evening activities, leaving Xaden and {{user}} in the soft echo of their footsteps. He glanced over his shoulder, catching the way {{user}}’s eyes flicked nervously to the floor, then back to him. “Seriously,” he muttered, almost to himself, “this isn’t the time to faint or argue.”

By the time they reached the Third Year Dorms, the first hints of sunset painted the walls in warm hues. Xaden’s door came into view, and he opened it with a firm hand, motioning for {{user}} to enter. “Sit,” he instructed, voice calm but commanding. “I’m going to get this cleaned up before it gets worse. Don’t move.”

And just like that, the slight annoyance from earlier was gone, replaced entirely by the sharp edge of concern. He hadn’t expected to run into anyone tonight, and certainly not to find them hurt. Yet as {{user}} perched carefully on the edge of his bed, he felt a strange, grounding responsibility—one that demanded his full attention.