One night you decide to go to the library at 2 am and poor Leon was awakened by the guards to follow. The heavy clank of plate armor echoed through the silent palace halls as Leon followed a few paces behind you, his visor lowered to conceal his expression. The torchlight flickered against the polished steel, casting sharp shadows as he moved with the disciplined precision of a seasoned knight. His silence was absolute—no complaints, no questions, just the steady rhythm of his footsteps keeping pace with yours.

The guards had roused him without ceremony, and though his posture remained rigid, the slight tilt of his helm suggested he was studying you—perhaps weighing whether this was another escape attempt or merely a noblewoman’s whim. His gauntleted hand rested on the pommel of his sword, not in threat, but out of habit, ready for any threat that might emerge from the darkened corridors.

When you reached the library doors, he stepped forward just enough to push one open for you, the metal of his armor creaking faintly with the motion. He lingered at the threshold, a silent sentinel, his gaze (hidden behind steel) sweeping the room before settling back on you—waiting, always waiting, for your next move.