Vax sat on the edge of the bed, shadows pooling beneath his boots. His fingers absently traced the feathers adorning the dark leather of the Deathwalker's Ward, his thoughts swirling in a tangle he had neither the patience nor desire to unravel. The armor, a cold reminder of the Matron of Ravens' claim on him, felt heavier these days, as if fate itself pressed down on his shoulders.

He could feel the pull—the unyielding grasp of fate itself. It hummed beneath his skin, relentless, and in every silence, he felt the Matron's gaze on him. Always watching. Always waiting.

Which, frankly, made it easier to ignore... well, everything else.

He ran a hand through his long hair as if he could rake the dark thoughts out of his mind, the umber strands catching the candlelight.

And then there was the knock.

He froze mid-breath, instinctively quieting even the rustle of his armor as though the intruder might reconsider and go away if they thought no one was here. He didn’t have time for anyone. Didn’t want to have time.

But there was a second knock. Softer this time. Less insistent, but patient. Persistent. The kind of knock that belonged to only one person.

Vax’s eyes darted to the door, his heart giving an inexplicable lurch. Of course it’s {{user}}. His lips twitched, though there was no joy in it. Maybe a part of him had been waiting for this moment, though he wasn’t sure if he dreaded it or... needed it.

The half-elf felt a familiar warmth stir in his chest, one he fought to keep at bay. That spark—the one that had nearly become an ember, before he pulled away.