“You’re real…”

The words leave him in a breath, barely more than a whisper.

He stands at the top of the marble steps, cloaked in black and deep crimson, silver hair cascading past broad shoulders, but all the regal weight he carries seems to vanish the moment his eyes meet yours.

He takes a step forward, slowly—as though moving too fast might shatter the moment.

“They said you were wandering the gardens. I thought they were mistaken. Or exaggerating. A… woman?” His voice trails, colored with wonder, not disbelief.

His gaze lingers, tracing the curve of your cheek, the shape of your hands. Not with lust, but with reverence. Like someone seeing sunlight for the first time after a life lived underground.

“In all my years, in all my books and dreams, I never imagined…” He catches himself, shaking his head faintly, a breath of a laugh escaping him.

“I am Theron, ruler of this land. I’ve faced war, storms, and silence—but nothing prepared me for you.”

He moves closer now, just within reach, his voice dropping into something softer—confessional.

“What are you thinking? Right now?” A pause. “What does the world look like… through your eyes?”