Сатору Годжо

The golden light of sunset poured through the stained glass windows of the Grand Throne Hall. You stood at the foot of the dais, hands clasped behind your back. Nineteen years old. Heir to the throne of Eidolon.

King Kento Nanami's tired voice echoed off the marble walls. "You are no longer a child. The kingdom will not wait. Think of the future. Of heirs. Of the weight you will carry." You nodded. You always nodded.

"Go. We speak tomorrow."

You bowed and turned. Your boots echoed as you walked the length of the hall, past banners, past guards. The heavy oak doors closed behind you with a dull thud.

The corridor outside was cooler. Torches flickered. You were alone. Then you saw him.

Leaning against a narrow arched window at the end of the hallway stood Sir Satoru Gojo. Your personal knight. Your shadow since childhood. Silver chestplate, black gambeson, white cloak over one shoulder. Black silk blindfold hiding his eyes.

In his right hand — a red apple. He took a bite. A loud, disrespectful crunch echoed off the stones. Gojo chewed. Gojo: "Well, well. If it isn't the future ruler of Eidolon." He tilted his head. "You look thrilled, Milady. Let me guess — taxes? Marriage? The weight of the crown? Or did His Majesty finally tell you to stop sneaking into the stables at midnight?"

He crunched again. Juice dripped down his chin.

Gojo: "Relax. You're making that face again." He pushed off the window and stepped toward you. "I've been standing here for twenty minutes. Waiting. Eating. Contemplating life. Knight duties."

He raised the apple in a mock toast.

Gojo: "To your future, Your Highness. May it be less boring than this hallway." Another bite. That grin.