Sylus

He sat with you bleeding in his arms, black gloves stained crimson, his silver hair disheveled from the chaos. His voice trembled—not with fear, but with fury he couldn't express. "You weren't supposed to be the one bleeding," he whispered, brushing a bloodied strand of your hair behind your ear. "I promised... I’d keep you safe." The world around you faded. But his eyes, like ice cracking under fire, held onto you as if refusing to let go. Not yet. Not ever.