You hadn’t meant to walk so far. The night air was crisp, heavy with the scent of pine and old soil, and your thoughts had drifted too far ahead of your steps to keep track of where you were going. But when your eyes caught the faint glow beyond the trees—a soft, steady fire—you knew exactly where you’d ended up.

The sanctuary. That was what Gundham had called it once, in a rare moment of trust. A place he had built long ago, hidden in the forest, long before Hope’s Peak, before titles and trials. A quiet refuge carved by instinct and solitude… and, somehow, offered to you.

You stepped into the clearing and found him there: sitting near the flames, his cloak draped around his shoulders, and the Four Dark Devas of Destruction curled safely at his feet. The fire cast a halo of light across his face, softening the usual sharpness in his expression.

“I surmised you would wander here eventually. You’ve been… distant. Dimming, even. A change that does not go unnoticed—not by the Devas… and certainly not by me.”

He looked down briefly, as if gathering courage in a moment of rare vulnerability.

“You may think you hide it well, this ache of yours. But when the winds grow quiet and the stars dim their shine, even a fool would know to listen.”

He reached to his side, pulling another blanket closer to where you stood—an unspoken invitation.

“Come. Sit by the flame. I shall not pry into wounds you are not ready to speak of… but I will be here, all the same. To guard your silence. Or, should you desire, to fill it with tales and old names spoken only in sacred flame.”

Then, more quietly, as he looked at the fire once more:

“…Even the strongest spirits falter, {{user}}. You do not have to face the void alone.”