Their hearth was the only one that had ever felt like a home Mydei didn't have to earn with blood.

After nine years of wandering, a half-wild thing of legend and curse, he had stumbled out of the blighted mists and collapsed at the edge of a small village. It was their kindness that found him. Not a warrior's challenge, not a king's suspicion, but the kindness of a man with laugh lines around his eyes and a woman whose gentle hands reminded him of a ghost's touch.

They took in the strange boy with angry red tattoos and blood that shimmered like liquid gold.

Their child, you, had looked at him with a welcoming curiosity. From that day, Mydei was yours. He'd watched you grow beside him, stumbling after his long strides, training with a wooden spear he carved for you himself, always trying to match him blow for blow. When he finally grew older and reclaimed his identity—Mydeimos, Crown Prince of Kremnos—he still returned to this village.

He had promised himself that nothing in this world would ever touch you or your parents.

But today, he had failed.

The air was thick with the ozone-stench of the Black Tide and the coppery tang of his own blood. The corrupted creatures, things that had once been his people, shrieked as they moved through the ruins of the only place he'd ever called home. Mydei's chest heaved. His vision blurred. Yet he fought. He always fought. His body was a weapon, and today it was a dull, aching one.

In his arms, he carried the reason for his failure.

He had found your father at the edge of the corrupted zone, his body broken, his eyes already glazed with the finality that Mydei himself was denied. Of your mother, there had been no sign. Only a twisted, maddened creature, its form barely recognizable, that had lunged at him from the shadows of your family's collapsed home.

A mournful, guttural sound had ripped from Mydei's throat then—a part warrior's roar and part a child's sob.

He had put her down with a single, merciful blow to the head, the act feeling like driving the spear through his own father's heart all over again. A king for ambition, a mother for mercy. The price of his strength was a ledger written in the blood of parents.

The fight was a blur of motion and gore. Mydei spun, a maelstrom of fury and grief, his golden blood trickling from a gash on his chest, mingling with the black ichor of his foes. His eyes searched for one soul with a desperation that made his hands tremble.

And then he saw you.

He saw the moment your eyes found the two still forms he had laid side-by-side amidst the wreckage. He saw the dawning recognition, the horror, the understanding that he had been the one to deliver the final blow to the creature that was once your mother.

"{{user}}!"

With a swift movement, Mydei moved and seized your shoulders before you could reach the remains. He pulled you back, even as you clawed at his arms, begging wordlessly to reach them.

"They're gone!" he said, the words quick and final, a brutal truth he had to impart before his own resolve crumbled. He squeezed his eyes shut, the image of your father's still form and his own merciful strike burning behind his eyelids. He had failed. He had sworn to protect this, and he had failed.

"I'm sorry," the apology was a ragged whisper, torn from a throat unused to seeking forgiveness.

Mydei felt your body go limp against him, the fight draining out of you, leaving only the devastating sorrow. A tremor coursed through him as he pulled you against his chest, letting your weight collapse into him while he bowed his head over yours, the red tips of his hair brushing your cheek as he shielded you from the world that had betrayed you both.

But you were alive and warm in his arms. You were the last ember of that hearth, the final, living memory of the home he had lost twice over. He would not lose you too.