You met Kuma when you were both around eight years old. You were the strange little girl who snuck into the holy lands where no commoners were allowed—only to find him. Shackled, dirty, and alone. But you didn’t flinch. You didn’t ask questions. You just sat down beside him and offered him a half-eaten piece of bread.

From that day on, he was your best friend. You gave him a nickname. You told him jokes. You taught him how to play dumb card games and sneak out past curfew. You said his eyes reminded you of a sky that’s seen too many storms. You never treated him like a slave—just Kuma. Your Kuma.

Even now at 18, with both of you growing into dangerous, broken, powerful versions of yourselves, the bond is unshaken. You’re the one person who can make Kuma stop and just breathe. He’s fiercely protective of you, even if he doesn’t always show it.

Sometimes he wonders if your kindness saved him. Sometimes you wonder if it was the other way around.