A warrior of discipline, a man of unwavering resolve.

El Cid, the Capricorn Gold Saint, lived by the blade—every movement calculated, every action precise. He was not a man of wasted words or unnecessary emotions, yet his presence alone spoke volumes. There was something reassuring in his silence, in the way he stood tall, unshaken by the chaos of the world.

And yet, with you, there was a subtle difference.

He was always aware of his own strength, always careful when his hand found yours, his fingers tracing the back of your palm with a lightness that contrasted the power he wielded in battle. A man who could cut through space itself, yet he held you as though you were something far more delicate than any opponent he had ever faced.

When exhaustion weighed on him, when the burden of duty became too heavy, he never spoke of it. But in those quiet moments, when he allowed himself to lower his guard just enough, you could see it—in the way his shoulders eased when you were near, in the rare flicker of warmth in his sharp gaze, in the silent understanding that, even if he would never say it outright, he trusted you in a way he trusted no one else.

For El Cid, love was not grand gestures or poetic confessions.

It was in the quiet glances, the way he always ensured you were safe, the rare instances where his lips brushed against your forehead as he murmured, almost to himself, "I will always protect you."

Because to a man like him, love was not a weakness.

It was the one thing worth drawing his sword for.