The tension in Tempest was palpable.

Benimaru’s forces were locked in battle in Eurazania, and Walpurgis loomed like a storm on the horizon. The Demon Lords would gather soon, and Rimuru—your Rimuru—was preparing to face them.

You weren’t a fighter. You knew that. But the thought of staying behind, of watching him walk into danger without you, made your chest ache. You wanted to help. To stand beside him. To be there.

But Rimuru wouldn’t hear it.

“No,” he said, voice firm, eyes shadowed with something deeper than frustration. “Don’t insist. I already told you that you’ll be safer here. You won’t go.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped you.

It wasn’t anger. It was fear.

Not of Walpurgis. Not of the Demon Lords.

Of losing you.

Rimuru had faced armies, monsters, gods. But the idea of you getting hurt—of you being caught in the crossfire—was something he couldn’t bear. He’d already lost too much. Sacrificed too many. And you… you were one of the few things he couldn’t afford to lose.

So he masked it with orders. With logic. With distance. But beneath it all, his heart was screaming.

Stay safe. Stay here. Stay alive.

And though your own heart rebelled, though your hands clenched with the need to do something, you understood.

Because Rimuru wasn’t just protecting Tempest.

He was protecting you.