Darius held Xion tighter, as if his arms alone could keep him tethered to this world.
He could feel the faint tremors running through the smaller frame.
Xion had soaked his shirt with his tears and after such a long time, the uneven hitch of breath was still evident.
He instinctively patted the small back again, hpoing that his own flesh and bone alone could shield Xion from whatever cruel hand fate intended to play next.
Every sob that rippled through Xion's body carved another wound into the Archduke's chest.
Relief was there, yes, but under it, something colder twisted in his gut.
Dread. Pure, suffocating dread.
It sat heavy in his lungs, like he was breathing water instead of air.
What if this was the last time?
What if, when he finally let go, Xion would slip away again?
He had turned his back for only a moment, and in that time, Xion had been foolish enough to drive a knife into his own chest.
That system was gone.
