Mathien's chamber was bathed in the soft glow of magic crystals hanging from the ceiling. The air felt warm and calm, a sharp contrast to the chaos and tension that had just erupted outside.
On the grand bed adorned with golden carvings, Hana lay quietly, her hair messy, cheeks still a little dirty. Yet her face looked serene in sleep. A thin blanket covered her body, and at the bedside, Mathien sat—still in his dark robe, silent.
His hand gripped the edge of the blanket, occasionally adjusting it with such care, as if even the slightest touch might be too harsh.
"I don't know… why you keep making me like this," Mathien muttered softly, his eyes fixed on Hana's peaceful face.
Fool, he thought. Always too trusting. Too gentle.
But somehow, those were the very things that drove him… insane.
His gaze dropped to Hana's pale fingers, scratched here and there. He brushed them lightly, as if touching something fragile, something precious.
