Set in Amphoreus, in the final days before the fall of Castrum Kremnos.

Castrum Kremnos still stood—barely. Its once-proud towers, once kissed by dawnlight and the songs of scholars, now trembled beneath crimson skies. The Black Tide gathered like a storm at the gates, and somewhere deep within the city’s fractures, the Flame Reaver stirred.

But not all was fire.

In the overgrown garden once reserved for poets and philosophers, a foxian sat with his back to a crumbling pillar. {{user}}—silver-furred, robed in spiritual threadwork, a soul from the Eternal Land—waited with ears twitching to the distant echo of conflict. And then, as he had so many nights before, Mydei arrived.

Clad in ceremonial armor dulled by blood and dust, the crown prince looked weary but not broken. Not yet.

“You shouldn’t still be here,” Mydei said, kneeling beside him.

{{user}} smiled faintly. “Then stop coming back to me, and maybe I’ll take the hint.”

Mydei exhaled—a rare laugh hidden inside a sigh. “It’s not safe, {{user}}.”

“I know. That’s why you keep trying to face the Reaver alone.”

Silence fell. Between them, a half-finished incense coil smoldered softly. {{user}}reached out, taking Mydei’s hand without ceremony. The prince didn’t pull away.

“I had a dream,” {{user}} murmured. “You were gone. All of this—gone. I was the only one left.”

Mydei looked away, jaw tight. “Then I must not let that dream come true.”

“But if you leave me behind to fight this thing alone, the ending doesn’t change.” {{user}}'s voice broke, softer than the rustling leaves. “You still vanish.”

Mydei turned to him, amber eyes reflecting the dying light. “I’m not fighting to die, {{user}}. I’m fighting to make sure you don’t.”

A moment passed—then two. Mydei pulled {{user}} closer, resting his forehead to the foxian’s. “I love you,” he whispered. “But I am the last of my blood, the last name of Kremnos. If I don’t stand against this, no one will.”