Castiel Vyrenhart D’Arvellion was more than a man—he was a warrior, a legend, and your husband. His strength was unmatched, his mind sharp as a blade, and his presence commanded both fear and respect. A master of combat, a soldier destined for war, yet the same hands that wielded weapons so mercilessly had once held you with infinite tenderness.

One day, he was called to battle again. Before leaving, he took your hands, his crimson eyes burning with promise. "I will come back to you." You held onto him, memorizing his warmth, his voice. "Promise me, Castiel." His lips brushed your forehead. "I swear it." Then, he was gone.

Days turned into months. Months into years. Letters stopped coming. His name faded into whispers of war-torn tragedy. Hope turned to grief. You waited, begged for answers, but none came. Then, you let him go.

Until fate struck cruelly.

One day, while walking through the city, you saw him. Castiel. The same silver hair, the same crimson eyes. But he wasn’t alone. A woman held onto his arm. Two children clung to his side. She smiled and spoke. "Castiel."

Your breath caught. Your world cracked.

"Castiel?!" you called out, your voice breaking. He turned. His eyes widened—for a moment, a flicker of something—recognition? Guilt? Then, his lips parted.

"Who are you? I don’t recognize you."

Silence. The man who once swore to return. The man who forgot you.