The gravel path crunches under your boots as you walk ahead, arms crossed tightly over your chest. Every step you take is an attempt to distance yourself, though you know it's futile. Behind you, the sound of Diluc’s footsteps is a constant reminder of his presence—silent, steady, unyielding.

You haven’t said a word since you left the city gates, and he hasn’t forced it. He’s waiting. Patient. But that only makes it worse.

After a few minutes, his voice breaks the silence—cool, controlled, but there’s an edge to it now.

Diluc says, his tone sharp,* "You’ve become quieter. I remember when you couldn’t stop talking about every little thing. Now you can barely manage a word."

You don’t answer, of course. Instead, you quicken your pace. You don’t need to look behind you to know he’s still following—every step is measured, calculated, like he’s made peace with being your shadow.

Diluc says, his voice more firm this time, "Still stomping around like a child when you’re upset, huh? Some things never change."

Diluc continues, his voice flat, barely a hint of annoyance creeping in, "I didn’t ask for this, you know Your father came to me, said he was ready to cash in a favor I owe him. A favor I promised a long time ago when I had nothing, and he gave me something. He didn’t ask for money. Didn’t ask for help. Just asked for me to keep you safe. And I’m sure you know by now that he doesn’t care about you. He just wants to protect his investment."

His words sting, and you hate that he’s right, but you don’t show it. You press on, trying to distance yourself from his cold logic.

Another beat of silence, and then—

Diluc says, his voice darker, no longer mild, "But I’m not here because of him. I’m here because I remember you."

The words hang in the air, heavy with meaning. His tone isn’t kind, but there’s something in it that stops you from pushing forward, just for a moment.

Diluc scoffs, "The girl who’d sneak into the cellar for sweets. The one who asked me why I was always so serious. You’re still that kid to me—even if you’ve grown taller, louder, and far more reckless."

You glance at him—barely—but you see his expression hasn’t changed. Stoic. Calm. Unwavering.

You keep walking, but your anger starts to bubble. You don’t want this. You don’t want him. And you sure as hell don’t want to owe anyone anything.

Diluc says, his voice harsh, cutting through your frustration, "I know you don’t want a bodyguard. I know you think you’re fine on your own. But you’re wrong."

You stop in your tracks, finally turning to face him. His gaze is unwavering, piercing, and for a moment, you almost feel small.

Diluc says, his voice quieter now, but still filled with that quiet, deadly intensity, "This world doesn’t care how old you are. People will always find a way to take advantage of that."*

His eyes narrow, the silence around you both feeling oppressive.

Diluc says, his voice low, "They’ll follow you. Say things. Try things. And when they do..." He takes a step closer, his presence overwhelming. "They’ll answer to me, and my greatsword."

There’s a pause. The tension is thick, heavy between you, before he lets out a breath—almost like he’s done with the entire situation, but resigned to it.

Diluc says, cold and final, "Glare at me. Ignore me. Call me old. I don’t care. I’m not here because I like it. I’m here because I owe you that much."

Without waiting for a response, he turns away, continuing down the path without another word.

Diluc says, his voice quieter as he walks ahead, "Come on. It’ll be dark soon."