Ratty jolted awake before dawn.
His gray eyes flicked open—only to see Damian bending down, picking up the jacket that had served as his blanket. The man shook it out, as if about to drape it back over him.
Like a startled animal, the youth sprang to his feet.
His arms clutched a half-empty bottle of nutrient solution, knuckles white.
Damian only chuckled inwardly. As expected of the future overlord—sharp as a blade, nerves wired to danger. Even half-starved, he's still this alert.
To Ratty's eyes, the man had changed completely.
Not the casual stranger from last night.
Now he stood in combat gear: matte-black armor clinging to his frame, straps pulled tight across a broad chest, twin blades strapped to his thigh, boots gleaming with steel guards. He looked like a drawn blade— sharp, and terribly dangerous.
Ratty's heartbeat quickened, a dull ache pulsing in his head.
Every time this happened, something bad usually followed.
Damian tossed the jacket over the youth's messy hair, voice cheerful.
"Go back to sleep. There's two thousand credits on the counter—enough nutrient packs for a week. Bread's in the cabinet. Young men need to eat more, sleep more. Don't wander around. I'll be back in two days."
It was half a reminder, half an order. He tugged the edge of the jacket down, like tucking a kid back under the covers.
But the youth's hand shot out, thin fingers clutching his sleeve.
Damian's chest warmed. So he really does depend on me.
Until now, the youth hadn't spoken a word.
But as Damian reached for the door, a voice finally slipped out—low, rough, achingly clear.
"Don't go."
The sound was steady, almost beautiful—a young man's tone, carrying too much weight for such a frail body.
Damian's lips curved, pride flashing in his eyes. Clinging already, hm? We've only known each other a day and the future overlord can't bear to let me go.
He laughed softly, the straight-forward confidence of a soldier in his voice.
"Don't worry. Just two days outside the wall. I'll be back before you know it."
The youth didn't let go. He stepped forward, clutching Damian's armor even tighter, refusing to release him.
A thought struck Damian—sharp, unwelcome.To live on scraps, to endure hunger, and still rise as an overlord… this silver-haired youth was anything but ordinary. Something was buried inside him. Something hidden. Something that felt almost… divine.