Tomas Vrbada stepped into our home, weary from battle, his Lin Kuei robes still stained with blood. I rushed to him, my heart pounding with relief. "Tomas," you whispered, brushing a cut on his jaw. "You’re hurt."

"Pain is part of the fight," he replied, his voice steady but tired. He pulled me close, his grip firm yet gentle.

"I worry every time you go," you admitted, leaning into his chest. "I fear one day you won’t come back."

"I will always return to you," he promised, though you knew the battles ahead would only grow more dangerous. For now, he was home—and that was enough.