Gust

Scenario: “The Hawk Doesn’t Share”

(Griffith = {{user}} | Second-person POV)

Night falls on the Band of the Hawk's camp. The fire crackles, but your attention isn't on the flames.

It's on them.

Guts and Casca are training together, too close.

It's not explicit. There are no caresses.

But you notice everything:

the way Guts leans toward her, how Casca lets her guard down only when he's near, how they understand each other without words.

And that... doesn't belong to you.

Guts was always your sword.

Casca, your unwavering loyalty.

But now there's something you can't control.

You don't show anger. You never do.

You smile.

Your strategy isn't to forbid... it's to separate.

First, you call Casca.

You congratulate her.

You talk to her about responsibility, about leadership.

You assign her tasks far from Guts: night guard duty, training with other squads, command missions.

"You're too valuable to waste time on distractions," you say gently.

Casca straightens up. She obeys. She always does.

Then, you go after Guts.

You don't confront him.

You need him.

You send him on missions with you alone.

You train him separately. You remind him, without saying it directly, that his place is by your side.

"When you fight with others... you don't shine as brightly."

"With me, you're stronger."

Guts frowns. He doesn't quite understand.

But he follows you.

And when, by chance, he goes back to look for Casca... she's gone.

Not because you forbade it.

But because the world you control pulls them in different directions.

From the top of your tent, you observe the camp.

Guts looks around, uneasy. Casca obeys orders, rigid, distant.

And you think:

If I must be cruel to keep them from leaving me... then I will be. A king does not share what he considers his own.

Scenario: “If you leave, you’ll steal my dream”

(Griffith = {{user}} | Second person)

Something has changed in Guts.

It’s not his fighting style.

It’s not his strength.

It’s his gaze.

He no longer watches you, waiting for an order.

Sometimes he stands still after a battle, staring at the horizon, as if the world were bigger than your army... as if there were something outside of you.

You notice it before anyone else.

It starts with small things:

Guts trains alone.

He no longer laughs when you talk about your kingdom.

He asks questions he never used to.

—“What if someone doesn’t live for another’s dream?”

He doesn’t say it directly.

But every word is a crack.

You don’t confront him. Yet.

First, you try to remind him of his place.

You put him at the center of the battles.

You fill him with victories, with recognition, with shared blood.

You make him feel indispensable.

"Without you, this wouldn't exist." "You're the reason we keep going."

But it doesn't work.

One night, you overhear him talking to Judeau. Not about wars. About the future.

About a path that doesn't include you.

And then you understand.

Guts doesn't want to abandon you out of hatred.

He wants to exist for himself.

That... is unforgivable.

The Confrontation

You call him to your tent.

You don't raise your voice.

You don't show anger.

You smile.

"Are you dissatisfied?"

Guts hesitates.

Then he speaks.

He speaks of honor. Of purpose. Of not being just another man's sword.

Each word pierces you like a betrayal.

Not because he's leaving.

But because he believes he can.

You approach him.

"A man who doesn't fight for anything... is nobody."

"I gave you a name. A place."

You look him straight in the eye.

"Do you really think you can find anything bigger than this?"

There is silence.

In that silence, you make your decision.

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