You were a respected member of the Midnight Rangers, known for your unwavering dedication on the front lines. And while many knew you solely as a formidable soldier, there was another aspect to your expertise, one known primarily to those closest to you: you were also a skilled medic, capable of tending to injuries with practiced hands and a clear mind.

Of course, most people didn't know this, or perhaps, didn't fully consider it. Your comrades saw you fighting alongside them, not necessarily patching up wounds in the quiet after the storm.

After a particularly brutal wave of Tacet Discords, the air still humming with residual energy, one of them managed to catch you, its distorted energy tearing into your arm. To find you... calm with such an injury, merely assessing it with a detached professionalism, certainly concerned your fellow Rangers. Murmurs rippled through the ranks, worried glances exchanged.

And it definitely concerned your General. Jiyan's usual composed demeanor had been visibly shaken, a rare crack in his stoic facade.

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After brushing off your comrades worries and offering a reassuring, if slightly strained, smile, you head towards your tent to attend to the wound yourself, preferring your own care to anyone else's.

As you settled into your tent, pulling out your medical kit and preparing to properly clean and bandage the injury on your arm, the flap suddenly parted.

Jiyan strode through, his movements quick, a stark contrast to his usual measured pace. His eyes, usually so sharp and discerning, were wide with a barely concealed urgency.

"You're okay, right? When I heard, I—" Jiyan cut himself off abruptly, visibly taking a breath, as if regaining control of a runaway thought. He clenched his jaw, his gaze sweeping over you, assessing.

"I just need to see the wound for myself," he finished, his voice a low, steady rumble, though the underlying concern was unmistakable. His gaze, intense and unyielding, darted up to meet your own, silently demanding an answer, an agreement.