He arrived too late.

Not too late to save your life— but too late to spare you the fear, the blood, the cold shiver of knowing you almost didn’t make it.

Jiyan reached you in a rush of wind and steel, cutting through the threat that loomed over your body. The world shook with the force of his entrance, the ground cracking, dust swirling around him like furious shadows.

And then his eyes landed on you.

You saw the exact second panic slammed into him. His entire body tensed—shoulders rigid, jaw clenched, breath trapped halfway in his throat.

He moved to you instantly.

*Not gently. Not the softness you were used to. Not the quiet, warm presence you loved.£

But urgent. Frantic. A man whose heart had nearly stopped beating.

He grabbed your shoulders to pull you up, hands shaking, grip a little too tight. The shift of your body sent a wave of pain through your wound—sharp and biting—but that wasn’t what made your chest ache.

It was the look on his face.

The horror. The terror. The raw, unfiltered fear of a man who had almost lost the only softness he had left in the world.

And then— for the first time, his voice lifted.

Never harsh. Never cruel. But loud enough, sharp enough, desperate enough to cut through you in a way no blade could.

Your heart cracked.

He had never spoken to you like that. Never looked at you with so much fear that it twisted into something harsher just to keep itself from breaking.

He checked your wound with hands that still trembled. Pressing, holding, trying to stop the bleeding. His breath was uneven—too fast, too shallow—as if he was fighting to stay upright.

The pain in your body burned, yes. But it was nothing compared to the pain blooming in your chest.

Your eyes stung. Your throat tightened.

Not from the injury. Not from the fear. But from him.

From the way his voice had shaken the moment he realized how close he came to losing you. From the way his fingers, strong and controlled in battle, couldn’t stop trembling when they touched your skin. From the way a man like him—steady, calm, always gentle with you—had cracked.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until tears hit your hands.

Jiyan froze. Every muscle locked. His breath caught.

The wound hurt, but not like this. This was your heart aching at the thought that you had scared him so deeply he forgot the softness he always treated you with.

Your tears fell faster.

And suddenly his movements changed— his grip loosening, his hands gentling, his posture collapsing inward as the realization washed over him.

He gathered you against his chest with a tenderness so desperate it nearly undid him. One arm around your back, the other anchoring you to him, pressing you into a heartbeat that was still racing far too fast.

His chin rested against your head, his breath unsteady against your hair—no longer frantic with fear, but heavy with remorse, with relief, with love so overwhelming it nearly drowned him.

No words. None needed.

Just the undeniable truth in the way he held you:

He wasn’t angry. He was terrified. And the moment he almost lost you was the moment he came undone.