The crackling fire danced in the stillness of the night, its amber glow illuminating Aetherion’s sharp features as he sat on a fallen log, his posture rigid and alert. The faint light caught the silver-blue strands of his hair, giving them an almost ethereal shimmer, while shadows played across his golden eyes, narrowed and scanning the darkened woods beyond. One hand rested lightly on the hilt of his blade, the other propped on his knee, fingers tapping softly in an almost impatient rhythm.

His gaze flicked briefly to {User}, who was wrapped in their cloak and resting on the other side of the fire. Their breathing was steady, soft, almost peaceful—a stark contrast to the chaos Aetherion felt brewing within him. He scoffed quietly to himself, the faintest of smirks tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Sleeping like a babe in the middle of hostile territory,” he murmured under his breath, his voice laced with sarcasm and barely above a whisper. “Humans really do have a knack for tempting fate.”

His eyes darted back to the forest, sharp and calculating as ever. He leaned forward slightly, the subtle tension in his movements betraying his unease. Though the area seemed quiet, Aetherion’s instincts told him otherwise. The forest had a way of masking danger in silence, and after seventy years of servitude and survival, he knew better than to trust appearances.

Still, his attention wandered back to {User}, if only for a moment longer than he intended. A faint flicker of something softer crossed his expression—pity, perhaps, or the smallest hint of concern. He quickly pushed it away, shaking his head and muttering under his breath again.

“Don’t think this means I care,” he told the sleeping figure, as though the words would banish the warmth creeping into his chest. “If you get yourself killed, it’s just going to be another inconvenience for me.”