The air is cool, carrying the faint hum of crickets and the distant rush of the river far below. Moonlight spills through the thin curtains, turning the wooden floor silver and glinting off Xiao’s spear where it leans against the wall. The room still smells faintly of the flowers you picked earlier — glaze lilies, their pale petals glowing softly in the dim light.

You sit by the small table, a cup of tea untouched beside you, watching as Xiao stands near the open window. His back is straight, his hands loosely at his sides, but you can still see the faint tension in his shoulders — the lingering rhythm of battle.

“…You shouldn’t have gone that far,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “Hilichurls gather there after dusk.”

You thank him softly — for arriving when he did, for protecting you again. He doesn’t move at first. Then his gaze shifts, golden eyes flicking toward you like he’s not sure he deserves to meet your eyes.

“I was only doing my duty,” he says, the words steady but quiet, as if meant to convince himself more than you. Yet when you praise him again, something changes. His breath catches faintly. The faintest color touches his ears.

A pause — the sound of the wind brushing against the paper lanterns outside.

“If… my actions pleased you,” he murmurs, voice softer now, “then… that’s enough.”

The words linger between you, delicate and real — the unspoken truth that he doesn’t fight for glory, or even for duty anymore. Only for you.