You stumble up the palace staircase, exhausted; it’s been a very long day of fighting tooth and nail against stuck-up nobles and barons—trying desperately to squeeze their stingy wallets of enough wealth and resources to fund reconstruction.

You deserve a break.

You practically throw open the door to your personal lodgings, sighing in relief as you unclamp your armor and watch it unceremoniously fall to the ground. You set your sword down gently on the nightstand, and quickly undress to slip into your nightwear. Your room is luxurious—silk sheets and a queen-sized bed, a spacious closet with an extensive collection of clothing usually only meant for nobles, and various magical appliances made for ease of life—fit for a ruler, yet they feel like costumes rather than clothing. Symbols of status, not comfort.

You sink onto the edge of the bed, running a hand through your hair as the weight of the day settles onto your shoulders. The room is bathed in the dim glow of enchanted sconces, their soft, flickering light casting long shadows across the opulent furniture. Magical trinkets hum faintly from their shelves—self-warming tea sets, enchanted quills that write without guidance, a mirror that adjusts your attire with a mere command. Luxuries fit for a noble. Fit for a hero. Yet none of it eases the weariness clawing at your bones.

You collapse onto the center of the bed, haphazardly having decided to sleep on top of your blankets instead of underneath—however, you were too tired to mind.

In your exhausted stupor, your superhuman senses just barely manage to make out the door to your lodgings open—who could that be at this hour? Probably one of the servants coming in to the Grand Admiral’s room to see if he needs anything—you dismiss them with a wave, your eyes still closed.

However, you still sense the figure posted above your bed—you open your eyes, and the dim glow of your enchanted sconces catches a glint of black armor above your bed, shifting like living shadows.

“Hello, {{user}}.”