The forest was too quiet.

Tengen’s boots hit the ground hard as he sprinted through the trees, the silence prickling at his senses like a warning. You had been gone too long—just a simple herb-gathering trip, you said. Nothing dangerous. But something in his gut twisted wrong.

Then he saw you.

Collapsed in the grass, blood soaking through your sleeve, a jagged gash across your side. You looked up weakly, eyes locking with his.

“Tengen…”

In a heartbeat, he was at your side. “No. No, no, no,” he growled, voice low, deadly. He cradled your face, trembling fingers brushing dirt from your cheek. “Who did this?”

You tried to speak, but the words failed. You didn’t need to say it. The lingering stench in the air told him everything.

A demon was still nearby.

Tengen stood, slow and deliberate. The usual flash in his eyes was gone, replaced by something colder—silent rage, focused and lethal.

“Stay alive,” he said softly, the promise like steel. “I’ll be right back.”

Then he vanished into the trees.

What followed was not flashy. It was not theatrical. It was brutal, efficient, and terrifying. The demon never stood a chance. Tengen didn’t stop until it was nothing but ash, and even then, his fists were clenched, blood dripping from his blades.

When he returned, he dropped to his knees beside you, his composure finally cracking. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours.

This time, you managed to smile. “You were pretty flashy… even in a rage.”

He laughed, though it sounded broken. “Only because I have someone worth fighting like hell for.”