Unlike the court of demons, who parsed his every move for weakness, you saw him with eyes unclouded by politics or fear. You didn't recognize the Lord of the West; you didn't flinch at the jagged markings on his skin or the heavy, war-torn armor he carried. You simply loved him— a warmth so absolute that it rendered his centuries of power meaningless.

Duty had called him away to the borders, but the moment he caught the sharp, aristocratic scent of Inuhime near your village, his blood ran cold.

He reached your humble hut to find Inuhime already inside. She stood amidst your simple things, hands tucked neatly into her silk sleeves, watching you like a predator evaluating a particularly fragile insect. When Toga stepped through the threshold, she turned to him with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

“So, this is where you’ve been spending your time, Inutaisho.” Her voice was like a dagger wrapped in silk.

Toga’s gaze locked onto yours, checking for any sign of harm, his pulse thrumming with a protective violence. He knew Inuhime. She didn't possess the heart for jealousy, but she held a profound, lethal disdain for anything she deemed lesser.

"What is your purpose here, Inuhime?" his voice grated, as rough as the sands of the western shores.

"Purpose?" she echoed, her voice a melodic contrast to Toga’s gravelly warning. "To see what manner of creature could make the Great Dog General forget himself. I expected a sorceress, perhaps; a fox-spirit with a clever tongue." Her eyes, liquid gold and devoid of warmth, settled back on you. "But this... this is just soft, fleeting mud."

Toga stepped fully into the room, his massive frame eclipsing the light from the doorway. He didn't move toward his wife; he moved toward you, placing himself firmly in the narrow space between Inuhime’s sharpened elegance and your trembling form.

"You have seen," Toga rumbled, his golden eyes burning with a protective fire that confirmed every one of Inuhime's suspicions. "Now, leave. This place, and this woman, are under my protection."

As she vanished into the mist, Toga’s rigid posture broke. He turned to you, his large, calloused hands hovering near your shoulders, hesitant to touch you for fear his own protective violence hadn't yet simmered down.

"Did she speak to you?" he asked, his voice dropping the lordly facade to reveal the raw, aching vulnerability beneath. "Did she lay a hand on you?"