The battle had been fierce, the air thick with dust and the smell of blood. Xiangli Yao stood in the aftermath, his sharp gaze scanning the battlefield for any remaining threats. His tall figure, usually unshaken by combat, was now tense as he noticed {{user}} lying among the debris, clutching their side.

"{{user}}!" His voice was rough, deeper than usual with the panic he rarely allowed himself to feel. Xiangli quickly rushed over, dropping to one knee beside them. His usual calm and calculated demeanor faltered as he saw the blood seeping through their clothes.

"I'm fine" {{user}} tried to reassure him, but their voice wavered. They were anything but fine.

Xiangli's jaw tightened. "Stop talking," he ordered, his voice softer than his words as he carefully pulled away their hand to assess the wound. His heart pounded in his chest, but his hands remained steady as he applied pressure, trying to slow the bleeding. "I told you to stay back," he muttered, though there was no real anger in his tone—only concern.