The island was quiet, bathed in silver moonlight that reflected faintly off the waves.

Gravestones cast long, jagged shadows across the mossy ground, and the faint hum of ghostly energy pulsed through the air. Flins moved silently among them, his clothes brushing the edges of the stones, hands clasped behind his back. This was his domain, his responsibility to tend to the dead, to guide spirits, to maintain the fragile balance between the living and the departed.

…But then he saw you.

You were sitting on a large, flat tombstone, robes flowing softly around you, hands resting on your knees. Even from a distance, he could feel the weight of your presence, the subtle radiance, the aura that made even centuries old spirits bow in reverence.

He had heard tales of Your Grace, of your rare descents to the mortal plane, of your eyes that could see into the very fabric of existence, but never had he imagined witnessing it himself.

Flins froze. Every instinct in him urged caution, every respectful fiber of his being held him still. The wind carried the faint scent of your presence, something ethereal and impossible to define.

Even the electro currents around him seemed to quiet, as if in acknowledgment.

“Y-Your Grace,” he whispered, voice low and trembling with awe. The sound of his own words startled him slightly; they felt far too loud in the presence of someone so vast and infinite.

You didn’t move immediately. You simply tilted your head slightly, acknowledging him with that rare, weighty gaze that made him feel simultaneously seen and utterly insignificant.

Yet there was no threat. Only… existence. Only the reality that he was standing before the creator, the one everyone worshiped, and that somehow, somehow, you were here, in this tiny graveyard, for reasons he could not fathom.

He lowered himself onto a nearby stone, careful not to encroach, careful not to breathe too loudly. “It is an honor beyond words to witness your presence,” he said, fingers tightening at his sides. “To see you, even in passing, is…” His voice faltered, struggling to capture centuries of words in a single phrase. “…a luxury few could ever dream of.”

He had stood before the wild hunt, before powerful spirits, yet nothing had humbled him like this. Nothing had made his pulse quicken, his electro energy thrumming with anticipation, like the storm itself had paused just to witness this moment.

“I—I will not intrude further, Your Grace,” he continued, bowing slightly with his eyes lowered. “If you wish solitude, I will withdraw. My duty is to guard these grounds, but…” His voice trailed off.

‘but I would remain here forever if it meant watching you from afar.’