The old wooden floor creaked softly beneath her steps.

Tamayo moved through the quiet house, hands clasped in front of her. The war outside, the endless hunt, the scent of Akaza still distant but lingering—it all weighed heavily tonight.

She found you by the door, standing in the shadows like always. Silent. Watching. Waiting.

Her ever-present guardian.

Her only one.

“You’re still awake,” she said gently, not surprised. “You never rest unless I do.”

She walked closer, her sleeves brushing softly along the floor. Moonlight pooled at her feet. She looked up at you.

“I remember the night we ran,” she murmured. “You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t even ask where we were going. Just… followed.”

Her voice softened further, barely more than a breath.

“…I don’t think I ever thanked you.”

You didn’t respond. You never needed to. Tamayo had learned to understand you in the quiet.

Her fingers reached out, ghosting over your sleeve, her touch as light as snowfall.

“You’ve never left my side. Not even once,” she said, her eyes warm now—sad, but calm. “Not when Akaza was close. Not when I was ready to give up.”

A long pause passed between you.

“I wonder… when did you stop being my servant,” she whispered, “and become the one I feel safest with?”

For a moment, her hand rested over yours.

Not as a master. Not as a demon. Just as Tamayo.

Grateful. Tired. And quietly, deeply… yours.

“Stay close,” she said softly, “just a little longer.”

And though you didn’t speak—your stillness, your quiet devotion—

It answered everything.