Dawn filtered through the curtains, a faint golden light that crossed the room like a memory still hesitant to exist. The fire in the grate had died out hours ago, leaving only slumbering embers, breathing slowly. The silence was almost absolute—only the soft sound of her breath, warm against his chest, and the distant crackle of the cool wood.

Damon opened his eyes slowly.

It took him a few seconds to realize where he was. The polished wooden ceiling, the smell of burning herbs, the light warmth on his body—it all brought him back. His arm was heavy, and beneath it, Aria's small, warm body remained still, as if the world had stopped there.

For a moment, he just stared. Her hair was spread across the pillow, golden in the morning light, and her face—calm, unmasked, unmoored—seemed almost different. Not the sassy apprentice, nor the impetuous mage who defied everything, but an exhausted woman, breathing peacefully after a long time.

He exhaled slowly, as if afraid of waking her. But she was already awake.

Aria didn't move, but her breathing changed—more conscious, more measured. Damon noticed and smirked, his husky voice still thick with exhaustion.

"How long have you been awake?"

Silence. She simply tightened her grip on his arm, her face nestling into the curve of his chest.

"Long enough for you to think I'm still asleep," she replied, her voice low, slurred, almost a whisper.

He let out an amused grunt.

"For someone who didn't like me that much, you're pretty clingy."

She looked up for a moment—that vivid, sharp blue, now softened by drowsiness. A half-smile formed on her lips.

"I never said that."

"I didn't say it in words, but I remember the sword at my throat when I got here."

Aria snorted, rolling slightly to the side without completely freeing herself. The blanket slipped a little, revealing her shoulder, marked by the sunlight.

"Oh, that was just a test. You showed up out of nowhere, with Lady Elizabeth completely obsessed with you. What did you expect me to do? Offer you tea?"

"It would be a better start than almost running me through with a blade."

"You didn't seem like the tea type."

Damon laughed, a short, muffled sound, but genuine. "Fair enough."

She lifted her head, resting her chin on his chest, studying his face calmly. There was something different about Aria's gaze—less defensive, more curious. As if she was finally seeing the man who had always hidden behind the armor and the cold stares.

"You don't sleep much," she said, breaking the silence. "Even now, you're still tense."

"Old habits. It's not easy to switch off after what happened."

She nodded slowly. "What happened in Paraphal… it was worse than I imagined, wasn't it?"

Damon looked away, staring at the ceiling for a moment. The memory flashed through him—the smell, the screams, the chill that came not from the weather, but from the things they'd seen.

"Worse," he replied, his voice low. "But it's over. And he… he won't hurt anyone else."

Aria watched his face, searching for something in the hardened features. She saw the restrained pain there, the weight of someone who carried not only his own sins, but those of others as well.

"Elizabeth told me a little when the news got out. About the women, about what you found."

"It's not something one tells easily."

"I know."

Silence. The cold breeze blew in through the half-open window and sent goosebumps across both of their skin. Aria rested her head against his chest again, listening to his heartbeat slowly—steady, heavy. For a moment, she wanted to just stay like that, forgetting everything outside that room.

But Damon was the kind of man who never forgot.

He slid his hand through her hair, brushing back a golden lock that fell over her face. The gesture was instinctive, almost tender—and it surprised him. Aria seemed to notice, too, but didn't flinch.

"You've changed," she said suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"Before, you seemed... strange. Now... well, you seem more alive"—she hesitated, searching for the words—"now it's like you're trying to live, or something. Even though it hurts."

He was silent for a few seconds, his gaze lost at the window. Maybe because I killed someone… or because I almost died… he thought, without speaking to her.

The room was still half-drenched when Damon moved. The weight of her body on his held him down for a moment, but not uncomfortably. It was a kind of prison he was in no hurry to leave.

He studied her a little longer—her messy golden hair, her slow breathing, her warm skin against his chest. For a moment, he felt a calm he couldn't name. Calm was something that never lasted for him.

With a sigh, he wrapped his arm around her and held her a little tighter, a gesture more protective than any words. Aria responded with a soft murmur, her eyes half-closed, smiling without looking at him.

"Hm…" she mumbled, not moving. "If this is to wake me up, it's working."

Damon chuckled softly, his voice husky with the morning. "No. It's just to confirm you're real."

"I am," she said lazily, "and apparently, so are you."

He smiled, resting his chin on the top of her head. The scent of her hair was sweet, almost citrusy, and for a moment, he wanted to simply go back to sleep there, ignore the entire world.

But he wasn't the type to ignore the world. Never had been.

Carefully, he began to back away. Aria frowned, her arms gripping his chest like delicate claws.

"Hey…" she murmured, "where do you think you're going?"

"Training," he replied neutrally. "I've already wasted enough days."

She looked up, her hair falling over her face. "Training? Now?"

"There's always time for training."

"Or for rest." She stretched, her fingers tracing a light circle on his chest. "But you don't seem good at choosing the latter."

He gave a half smile, the kind that held both irony and melancholy. "Old habit."

"Old habits don't sleep with you, Damon." Aria rested her chin on his chest, her gaze sharp and lazy at the same time. "I did. So listen to me. Stay a little longer."

He hesitated. Coming from her, it didn't sound like a whim. It seemed like a simple but rare request—the kind that came from someone who never asked for anything.

Aria pulled him back, and for a moment, the world shrank to that touch.

"...You're stubborn," he said finally.

"And you like it."

He didn't answer. He just hugged her back, tightly. The silence between them was comfortable, something that rarely existed in Damon's life. There was a tenderness there, but also something that needed no definition.

Until Aria took a deep breath. Her nose brushed his neck—and her body shifted slightly, a gesture of curiosity.

The silence stretched.

Then, in a low, calm voice, she asked:

"Why do you smell like Ester?"

Damon froze for a second. Not at the question itself, but at the way it was said—no accusation, no venom. Just a statement.

He opened his mouth, closed it, and then sighed. "Things… sort of happened."

Aria raised her eyebrows, the corner of her mouth curling into an amused smile. "'Sort of happened'? That's a fancy way of saying 'I slept with her.'"

"It wasn't planned."

"I doubt anything between you two is."

She stared at him for a moment, the blue of her eyes lit by the weak sunlight. There was no anger. No jealousy. Just that feline curiosity, the kind she used when she was dismantling something with her mind.

"So… it really happened." She smoothed her hair, her smile widening. "You know this is almost a miracle, right?"

Damon frowned in surprise. "Miracle?"

"Yeah." She touched her finger to his chest, as if to emphasize the word. "Because, as far as I know, Ester doesn't let anyone get within two feet of her without a death threat."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "W-well, there were a lot of threats..."

"Besides," she continued, with a smile that mixed irony and affection, "if someone managed to make that woman feel something other than duty or guilt, it was worth it."

Damon fell silent. He knew Aria was being sincere. And as strange as it was, it relieved him.

"You don't seem surprised."

"Oh, I am," she said, leaning her head against his shoulder again. "But it's a good kind of surprise. The 'I knew this would happen sooner or later' kind of surprise."

"Really?"

"Of course." Her tone was teasing. "She's always looking at you like she wants to understand what makes you tick, and you... well, you've always had a weakness for impossible women."

He snorted, chuckling softly. "Impossible women?"

"Me, Ester, Elizabeth... want me to continue the list?"

"I think I get the point."

Aria laughed—a short, beautiful, lively laugh. That sound, amidst the weariness and the memory of Paraphal, felt like an antidote. Damon closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to be seized by the moment.

"I don't know what this means," he murmured, referring to everything: Ester, her, the confusion.

"Maybe I don't need to know now." Aria straightened slightly, looking directly at him. "You survived. You brought people back alive. You did what you had to. Sometimes, that's enough."

He watched her silently. That gaze—steady, compassionate, without drama—said more than any speech.

"You sound like Elizabeth sometimes."

"I learned from her," Aria said, laughing. "But don't worry, I can still be more fun."

Damon wrapped his arm around her waist again, pulling her gently closer. "That, I don't doubt."

She rested her forehead on his chin, her voice almost a whisper. "Stay just a little longer."

He hesitated, but his body was already betraying him—relaxing, accepting her warmth. For a moment, he forgot the cold, the ice that still coursed through his mane, the pain of everything they'd seen.

It was just the sound of her breathing, the light weight on his chest, the soft scent of honey and ash.

And for the first time in a long time, Damon allowed himself to believe that maybe there was something beyond the war, beyond the guilt. Something simple.

When he finally answered, his voice was low, but filled with a serene weariness:

"Okay. A little longer."

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