Sisifo was a man of honor, of discipline, of unwavering composure. But the moment he realized he had been the cause of your pain—whether through a misstep in battle, a harshly spoken word, or even an accident he hadn’t foreseen—his entire world seemed to halt.

His breath caught in his throat as he saw you wince, his chest tightening with something far worse than fear. Guilt. It clawed at him instantly, an unbearable weight pressing against his ribs. His first instinct was to reach for you, but his hands hesitated midair as if afraid of making things worse.

He dropped to his knees before you, not out of weakness, but out of sheer devastation. His usual composure cracked at the edges, golden eyes searching yours with a silent plea.

He could endure any wound, any punishment the world had to offer—but to be the reason for your pain? Unforgivable. And if you so much as flinched away from him, it would utterly break him.

No amount of self-discipline, no years of training, could prepare him for the crushing weight of knowing he had hurt the one person he swore to protect. And until you reassured him—until you let him hold you and see with his own eyes that you were alright—he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.