Golden Strings

A glinpse beneath

(Y/N's POV)

By the time we got back to the Emperor's Coven, the sun was already fading behind the clouds, painting the courtyard in orange and violet light.

Hunter didn't say a word the entire walk back.
Not that I expected him to.

He just walked ahead of me—straight-backed, calm, unreadable. But every once in a while, I'd catch him glancing over his shoulder, like he wanted to say something and stopped himself.

When we reached the training hall, he finally turned around.
"You did well out there," he said simply.

I blinked, almost not believing I'd heard that right. "Did you just—wait—did the Golden Guard compliment me?"

He looked slightly startled. "I was just acknowledging competence."

I smirked. "Right. 'Acknowledging competence.' I'll take it."

For a split second, the corners of his mouth twitched—almost a smile. Almost.

Before I could tease him again, a loud clack echoed through the hall. One of the practice dummies had fallen over from the earlier training session. Hunter moved to fix it, kneeling to set it upright, and for the first time, I noticed how quiet the room was when he wasn't talking.

It wasn't the commanding, confident quiet he used when leading others.
It was... tired.

I tilted my head. "You don't get much rest, do you?"

He hesitated. "The Emperor's work doesn't wait for sleep."

"That's not really an answer," I said softly.

He froze mid-movement, then looked over at me. His golden mask caught the fading light, reflecting it like fire. "Why do you care?"

I shrugged, pretending it was no big deal even though my heart beat faster under his gaze. "Because you look like someone who carries too much on their shoulders."

For a long moment, he didn't reply. The silence stretched. Then, almost too quiet to hear, he said,
"Maybe I do."

The air between us felt heavier now, charged.

He stood up, dusting his gloves. "You should rest. You'll need your strength if you're staying with the Coven."

I raised an eyebrow. "And what about you?"

He looked toward the window. "I'll manage. I always do."

He turned to leave, but something in me spoke before my brain could stop it.
"You don't have to, you know."

He paused in the doorway, his back to me. "What?"

"Carry everything alone," I said. "You don't have to."

For the first time since I'd met him, he didn't have a quick comeback or an order. He just stood there—still, quiet—and when he finally turned his head, I swore I saw a flicker of something softer behind that golden mask.

Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

"Goodnight, (Y/N)," he said, his tone unreadable again.

And with that, he left the hall, his cloak sweeping after him.

I stood there a while longer, staring at the door.
It was strange—how someone who seemed so untouchable could look so lonely.