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devotedlypinkpeanut · 3 months ago

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An Eternal Cycle: Fire, Blood and Venom — Curse

SUMMARY : In a world where fate seems cruel, you are condemned to relive an existence marked by suffering and the repetition of tragic encounters with your lovers who, although loving you deeply, always abandon you in the end. This curse binds you to them through several reincarnations, where, in each life, they forget your past ties, just like you. However, despite this collective amnesia, an intense passion is born with each encounter. But this flame of love is doomed to failure. In each cycle, your love for them is forbidden, a transgression of an ancient order, and the punishment is inevitable: they kill you at the end of each life. This is the price you must pay for defying fate, for succumbing to a love deemed impious. In this endless cycle, you are caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions: the hope that you can change the course of things and the terror of knowing that there is no escape from this curse. Love, no matter how beautiful, is doomed to destroy you again and again, until any possible redemption, or liberation, seems like nothing more than a mirage.

PAIRING : non!idols enha hyung line x fem!reader

GENRE : Dark romance, obsession, drama, slow burn, psychological tension, historical romance, reincarnation, fantasy, reverse harem, 18+ (MDNI).

WARNING : Upsetting and uncomfortable scenes, ancestral curses, violent deaths of the main characters, sacrifice of a main character, use of supernatural powers, psychological manipulation, passionate kisses mixed with desire and control, cruel betrayals, extreme emotional and physical suffering, deep despair, implacable fatality, forbidden love, transgression of rules, painful reincarnation, devastating consequences of destiny, oppressive and devouring atmosphere, crushing guilt, devouring obsession, suffering due to the transgression of destiny, relationships marked by domination. No explicit sex scene, but a strong emotional and psychological charge present throughout the chapter.

FINAL WARNING ‼️ Some scenes may be extremely disturbing or uncomfortable for sensitive readers. Mature audiences only (18+).

Number of words : ~ 25k

Hello or good evening! Don’t hesitate to like, share, and comment if you enjoy it! Your support is precious and means a lot to me!

Not read over, and English isn’t my first language, so please close your eyes 🙏🥺.

⤑ Main Masterlist — Series Masterlist | Next Chapter ⇢

You found yourself in House Astraviel, the one you had always belonged to, the one that had seen you born and grow up. The emblem of this house, a starry circle, was much more than a simple symbol: it embodied your heritage, your identity. The spiral constellation it represented seemed to twist and intertwine in an eternal movement, an infinite celestial dance. A bright star sat at the center of the spiral, shining with pure light, symbolizing the origin and convergence of souls, like a beacon in the darkness. Around this star, threads of gold wound, subtle and complex, weaving delicate patterns resembling invisible chains, a web woven by destiny, but also by the actions and choices of beings.

Beneath this constellation, a silver hourglass rested, its horizontal position suggesting the suspension of time, as if, at this precise moment, the flow of time was frozen. The sand did not flow; it floated, imprisoned in this perfect balance that House Astraviel aspired to maintain. This image symbolized the ability of the members of Astraviel to defy the natural laws of time. Their particular power allowed them to adjust and reshape the thread of destiny at will, aligning the lives of those who crossed their path according to their vision of a fragile cosmic balance. The central star embodied both the beginning of each existence and the end of a cycle, an infinite loop, that of reincarnation, where souls returned endlessly, to renew themselves, to purify themselves, or sometimes, to lose themselves.

This emblem, much more than a simple motif adorned with jewels or embroidery, was a mark of power, an invisible but indelible imprint. It was embroidered on the clothes of the members of the house, like a pride. It was engraved in ancient and precious stones, each engraving a silent prayer for future generations. And in their sacred temples, the most precious artifacts were adorned with this symbol, giving them a divine aura, a sacred protection.

House Astraviel was tied to the stars, and those stars themselves were tied to souls. With each birth, a new star appeared in the sky, illuminating the darkness, bearing the promise of a new life, of a soul awakening. But when the soul left this world, the star went out, like a candle blown out by an invisible wind. These stars, bright and mysterious, were the guides of the members of Astraviel. They allowed them to read the destiny of each one, which they wrote on a "leaf of life": a finely decorated, almost living parchment, detailing the lines of life, the choices, the ruptures, the rebirths.

You stood before the great sacred tree, a thousand-year-old oak with deep roots, a symbol of ancient wisdom and knowledge. The tree seemed to breathe with you, each leaf quivering in the breeze, like an extension of the entire universe. In your hands, you held one of these leaves, your own leaf of life. The lines drawn on it were clear, sharp, but… strangely broken. In places, breaks seemed to freeze the thread of destiny. As if, at times, life abandoned you, suspended itself, broke. With each break, a new line appeared, identical to the previous one, as if the universe was trying to repair what was broken, but the pain persisted, as did the fear of these inexplicable interruptions.

Troubled, you tried to get away from this disturbing vision. With an almost instinctive gesture, you took another leaf from the thousands that rested under the tree, without really knowing why. This one was marked by another soul, that of Park Jongseong. He belonged to a prestigious house, the House of Asphodel, mysterious and captivating, with close ties to the realm of the dead. Their emblem, an asphodel flower surrounded by thorns and topped with a silver moon, symbolized the passage between life and death, the passage of wandering, lost, and sometimes condemned souls. Their members were known to be spiritual guides or masters of curses, exercising a power that went far beyond the simple material world.

As you looked at Jongseong’s lifeline, a shiver ran through you. His destiny seemed strangely similar to yours. The same breakups, the same twists and turns. You suddenly felt connected to him in an inexplicable way. Your hands shook slightly, and you tried to control the anxiety that was rising inside you. But before you could think further, you felt a presence behind you, a gentle but firm pressure against your waist.

A hand, almost translucent pale, touched you. It seemed to belong to a being from another world, a soul suspended between life and death. A cold shiver ran through you, as if you had just felt the embrace of a ghost. The cold that emanated from this hand had the effect on you of a breath of lost souls, wandering in the darkness, without end.

You turned around abruptly, and your eyes immediately fell on hair as black as night, but a deep black, almost supernatural, with silver highlights sparkling under the light that filtered through the trees. His hair seemed to move by itself, carried by an invisible breeze, as if it were in perpetual motion, animated by a strange, vibrant energy. This hair, as dark as the night sky, reminded you of the ashes of an extinguished fire or the glow of a sky dotted with distant stars. It was magnificent, but at the same time, it seemed to speak to you of the inaccessible, the ephemeral.

His eyes, a deep silvery gray, pierced you like icy blades. They were filled with ancient wisdom, as if they had seen the rise and fall of entire kingdoms, as if they held the secrets of the universe. At times, flashes of icy blue lit up his gaze, a blue that pierced the soul and seemed to resonate with a frightening power, especially when he was moved or when he exercised his power.

Jongseong stood there, tall and slender, a ghostly figure in the shadow of the sacred tree. His movements were graceful, fluid, like those of an unreal being, and his appearance reinforced this impression of intangibility. His face, with its perfectly sculpted features, seemed almost too perfect to be true: a fine, well-defined jaw, a straight nose, lips of an almost supernatural pallor. But behind this beauty hid a deep melancholy, a sadness that you perceived in the softness of his gestures, in the intensity of his gaze. It was as if he carried on his shoulders the weight of all the lives he had condemned or lost over the centuries.

He wore the sumptuous dark robes of the House of Asphodel. His garments were cut from fine, dark and mysterious fabrics, embroidered with silver patterns representing asphodels, symbols of death and resurrection. A long, flowing cape draped over his shoulders, adding to his spectral allure. Around his neck, an asphodel flower pendant set with onyx shone with an eerie, almost supernatural glow. On his finger, a silver ring adorned with an hourglass, one of the key symbols of the House of Asphodel, was a reminder of his unbreakable bond with time and the cycles of souls.

Every detail of his presence seemed a contradiction: a living being yet dead, a guide yet a prisoner, perfect beauty yet silent pain. He was everything you had learned to fear, everything you didn't understand, and yet he seemed as familiar as your own reflection in a broken mirror.

You knew this wasn’t the right place for you, or the right time. Yet an invisible force seemed to draw you to him, like a magnet devouring everything in its path. “You shouldn’t be here.” Your voice barely trembled, the tension palpable, but it was a whisper that slipped into the night like a broken promise. “If anyone sees us together, we’ll be in trouble, you know?”

Your gaze drifted to the figure before you, your dress sparkling in the dim moonlight. It was a celestial dress, almost as if it were part of the universe itself. The light fabric caught every ray of light, every sparkle of a star. Silver, midnight blue, gold… each color seemed to weave a new web around you. Patterns of constellations and shooting stars intertwined on the fabric, symbolizing your belonging, your destiny, an invisible thread connecting you to the heavens. But despite this almost unreal beauty, a feeling of vulnerability invaded you, as if you were an ephemeral star ready to extinguish itself under the weight of his gaze.

He stared at you for a moment, a smirk on his face. “I just wanted to see you.” His words, heavy with meaning, slid through the air like a caress, as gentle as it was dangerous. Before you could react, he grabbed your hand. His icy skin closed around yours, pulling you roughly out of your thoughts. A shiver ran through your body, but it wasn’t simply physical. It was a much deeper sensation, a mixture of terror and desire that made you sway.

His grip on your hand was firm, unrelenting, and you felt like prey caught in an invisible web. “What if I showed you something more fun than that old tree?” He chuckled softly, a low, raspy sound that sent shivers through parts of your body you didn’t want to acknowledge. He tightened his grip, his fingers squeezing your skin in a possessive, almost brutal gesture.

The ground beneath your feet seemed to wobble for a moment, and you straightened up, more indignant than anything else. “Jongseong! This tree is older than you, have some respect.” You tried to pull away slightly, but he didn’t care. In the blink of an eye, he pulled you closer to him, and you didn’t have time to understand what was happening before his body was against yours. You felt the pressure of his chest against yours, a hot, heavy breath against your neck, and your legs faltered under this proximity that was too intense, too intimate. Every fiber of your being seemed to tense, a palpable tension between you, as if the air itself was charged with this invisible force.

His mouth came closer to your ear, his breath dancing on your skin. “A little respect, princess. I’m 400 years older than you.” His voice, low and raspy, rang out like a clap of thunder, a cruel reminder of the power gap between you. He gently brushed his finger over your nose, a gesture both tender and possessive, as if everything about you already belonged to him, even your annoyance.

Before you could react, a violent dizziness seized you, as if the ground had no consistency anymore. You understood that you were already far from everything you knew. The teleportation… he had taken you away without you even having time to understand what was happening. A nausea rose in you, but he caught you before you collapsed. His arms wrapped around you, pressing you against him, his body surprisingly solid and cold against yours.

“Still fragile as I see it, princess.” He whispered the words against your skin, his tone almost mocking, but there was something darker, a veiled threat that made your heart beat faster. He held you tighter against him, his silver eyes, now an icy blue, fixed on you. Behind his mask of amusement, you perceived a worry, a desire to understand something that even you couldn’t define.

You stepped back slightly, not paying attention to your surroundings, nearly knocking you off the cloud you were standing on, but he caught you effortlessly, his grip unwavering. “Be careful.” He growled, his voice deeper, more intense, and his eyes hardened. The tension between you was palpable, a taut thread ready to snap.

You wanted to answer, but your gaze involuntarily turned towards the sky. Shooting stars, streaks of light in the darkness, seemed to dance before your eyes, a silent symphony that captured you entirely. You fell silent, lost in the beauty of the moment. The stars traced graceful curves, bright flashes following one another, their light creating visions in your head, fragments of lives that you could not understand.

“It’s beautiful…” you whispered, your voice breaking with emotion. Tears shone in your eyes, as if the stars themselves were reflected in your gaze, as if your soul were floating, suspended in the universe. Those little stars that were born in your eyes, imperceptible to anyone but visible to him, began to shine brighter, like a reflection of the stars dancing in the sky. But it was also a reflection of your own inner chaos: a mixture of desire, fear, confusion, everything you could no longer repress.

The night was enchanting, almost supernatural. The deep night blue sky seemed to melt into the darkness, dotted with thousands of stars, like pearls suspended in the infinite void. There was something magical about this moment, an atmosphere charged with electric energy, heavy with promise, where each second seemed suspended, uncertain, almost unreal. And you, there, in this celestial dress, you shone under the soft light of the moon, like an apparition from another world. The silver and gold threads of the dress mingled with the darkness, clinging to the darkness as if you were destined to be swallowed up by it. But it was not the dress that dominated you, it was the man before you. Jongseong.

His eyes never left you, heavily fixed on you, analyzing every little gesture, every breath. There was an infinite expanse in his gaze, a sort of silent hold that gave you no respite. When he approached closer to you, his gestures were measured, almost calculated, as if he were savoring each movement. With a cold and imperious finger, he pushed back a lock of your hair that had escaped behind your ear. This simple contact, yet so light, made you shiver. You felt his gaze slide along your neck, brushing your skin with an almost palpable intensity. He invaded you with his attention, making you feel every part of your being as if he were devouring you with his gaze.

“Yes… beautiful,” he finally said, his voice low and caressing, but with a darker undertone. He paused, his eyes still locked on yours, before whispering, “Make a wish.”

You weren’t sure what you felt, or what you wanted. Maybe a part of you was still unsure, but another… another part of you knew that this wish could mean so much more than you were willing to accept. There was something in the way he looked at you, a silent form of domination, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking before you could even articulate it. There was also an implicit promise in his words, a warning that you felt deep in your flesh.

“What could I possibly ask for… and most importantly, who could grant my wish?” You felt almost insane for asking the question, but you let it slip out despite yourself. He wasn’t just a man, he wasn’t even a human being. He was more, much more than you could understand.

He let a smile stretch across his lips, a smile that wasn't warm, but rather predatory. He leaned in closer, until he could feel his warm breath against your skin. "I will..." he said with frightening certainty. "I will bend the earth and the sky to do it if I have to." His words hit you hard, echoing in your mind like an ultimatum. It was a challenge, a promise of infinite power, but also a threat, a demand. He expected more from you, he wanted more.

His hands rested on your waist, firm, but almost disturbingly soft. You could feel the tense muscles beneath the cold skin, the raw energy he gave off. He didn't need more to make you feel vulnerable. In one movement, he pulled you closer to him, his body against yours, forcing you to feel the magnitude of his presence. The contact of his skin against yours was almost suffocating, and you had trouble breathing. The tension, the electrification of the air around you was becoming unbearable.

“Now make your wish. There aren’t many shooting stars left.” His voice was softer now, but with a piercing insistence. His fingers slid slowly over the bottom of your stomach, brushing the material of your dress. The gesture was intentionally light, but each movement sent a shiver up your spine, waking you to a feeling he knew he was awakening in you. A feeling you didn’t want to confess, but which flowed through your veins like sweet poison.

You didn't need to think any longer. A part of you, a dark and eager part, knew exactly what it wanted. You closed your eyes for a moment, searching for strength in the solitude of your mind, your fingers joining in a silent prayer. And as you formulated your wish, you felt his arms, like chains, holding you back. His hands were on you, but in a gentle, almost provocative gesture, as if he was giving himself permission to possess you a little more each second. But all this remained silent, within the framework of this invisible pact that you sealed without words.

When you opened your eyes again, he was there, in your field of vision. He hadn’t moved, not for a moment. His eyes were darker, more intense, as if he were waiting for an answer. But he knew, deep down, that you weren’t going to give him what he wanted right away. He moved closer, his hands sliding under your dress, a firm and assured grip. He waited for your reaction. His eyes hardened, almost impassive, but there was no pity in that look. You were in his clutches, and he was savoring every moment of it.

“So what did you wish for?” He leaned in close, his breath against your ear. His question was a challenge, a power play, a test you couldn’t avoid. He wanted you to give in, to push you to reveal what you were trying to hide. He waited, with the patience of a predator.

But you kept some semblance of control. A small smile slid across your lips. “I’ll tell you when it comes true.”

His lips curved into an unreadable smile, but he wasn't one to accept uncertainty. He pulled you closer to him, without any warning, and placed a kiss on the corner of your lips. It wasn't a tender kiss, but one filled with tension, defiance, and desire. A kiss that spoke louder than words, that told you that you were no longer free to make your own choices. You were no longer in control. He was already in your mind, in your thoughts, in your body. And you knew that you had no escape.

He straightened up slightly, his fingers gently resting on your chin, before tilting your face towards his. “Let’s do this, then.” He murmured, his tone deeper, more serious. “It’s a deal.” And without waiting for an answer, he sealed the deal with a deeper, more demanding kiss. His lips pressed against yours with an insistence that made you lose all sense of direction, erasing the reality around you, drowning you in the darkness of his desires. The beating of your heart echoed in your ears, just like his, perfectly synchronized in this dangerous game where there was no winner, no loser. Just two souls ready to burn together.

Sim Jake is a prominent member of House Feralis, a mysterious and ancient organization dedicated to protecting the wilderness, maintaining ecological balance, and preserving the ancient traditions of survival in harsh and beautiful environments. House Feralis not only defends nature, they honor and cherish it, viewing humanity not as a dominant force on earth, but as an integral part of the natural balance. They firmly believe that when man respects and preserves this fundamental connection to the land and its creatures, he can truly live in harmony with the natural world.

The primary goal of House Feralis is to protect this sacred bond by opposing outside forces, whether they be corporations greedy for natural resources or civilizations that, in their expansion, disrupt this delicate balance. These protectors of nature wage a ceaseless struggle to defend the fauna and flora, but also the mystical and legendary creatures that inhabit the most remote corners of the world. It is not simply a matter of preserving nature in its raw state, but of protecting the ancient wisdom written in the roots and the skies, a wisdom that modern civilizations have too often forgotten or ignored.

House Feralis also fights against those who, driven by the desire for power or profit, seek to exploit the land and its creatures. Members of the House are warriors, but not in the traditional sense. They are both guardians and teachers, ancient souls bound to deep and secret knowledge. Their mission is also to preserve ancestral skills, such as the art of survival in the harshest terrains, tribal rites, and the understanding of complex ecosystems. Each member carries within them the wisdom of the ancients, and their honor is tied to their ability to defend nature against the forces of destruction. It is a sacred trust.

Loyalty and cohesion are the core values of House Feralis. They firmly believe that a close-knit community is like a wolf pack: each member is an essential part of the whole, but each wolf remains free, independent, and able to survive on its own. However, it is this same independence that guarantees their collective strength. They act together when necessary, and in unity they are powerful. This philosophy extends to the daily lives of each member, who must be able to keep their distance from others when necessary, while remaining deeply connected to the pack.

Their emblem is a representation of their deep respect for nature. The symbol of House Feralis is a silver wolf, powerful and elegant, standing against a dark backdrop of deep forests, with eyes shining like stars. The wolf, symbol of the predator, is depicted in a pose ready to pounce, signifying both vigilance and swiftness of action. The natural elements surrounding it, such as gnarled roots and swirling leaves, reinforce the connection to the land and the forest, an ode to wilderness in its purest form.

Sim Jake embodies this philosophy perfectly. Like a lone wolf, he often prefers to keep himself away from human and celestial society, wandering alone in dark forests or rugged mountains. His independent nature is evident in the way he moves and hides in the shadows. He is a master of camouflage, able to blend into his surroundings with almost supernatural precision. Whether under the thick foliage of a dense forest or among the rugged rocks of the mountains, he becomes an integral part of the landscape, invisible to outsiders. When he hunts, he makes no sound. Every movement is calculated, every breath controlled. He is a shadow among shadows, a predator that leaves no trace.

His skin is lightly tanned, marked by the passing of the seasons and hours spent outdoors, exposed to the elements. It is thick and sturdy, bearing the signs of many trials: subtle scars betraying his past battles, scratches left by bushes or sharp stones, deeper marks from clashes with dangerous creatures or storms. His features are strong and distinct, with high cheekbones and a square jaw, a face sculpted by time and trials, and an expression both hard and charismatic, commanding respect.

His hair, a deep black, falls in sparse, disordered strands around his face. Its slightly wavy texture and dense thickness add to its wild and untamed appearance. Sometimes, when practicality prevails, he ties it into a simple ponytail, but even then, a handful of rebellious strands escape, testifying to his free and unruly nature. During rituals or moments of contemplation, he adorns his hair with finely woven braids or leather ropes, a constant reminder of his belonging to nature and the tribal traditions that govern his life. These details are not only aesthetic, but carry a significant symbolic weight: each braid, each rope is a tribute to his connection with ancestors and primordial forces.

Jake's eyes are perhaps his most hypnotic feature. Deep amber, almost otherworldly, they glow with a fierce and wise light, an ancient flame that seems to catch the light with every movement. His eyes reflect the wisdom of the forest, the intimate connection with animal instinct and the mysteries of nature. Penetrating, they are able to see beyond appearances and discern lies. These eyes, although calm and measured, can transform into a sharp and ferocious gaze when Jake feels threatened or angry. When he is hunting or in danger, his gaze becomes almost animalistic, a light that seems to pierce the soul of anyone who dares to challenge him.

His face is carved from the harshness and discipline of the wilderness. His lips, thin and closed, rarely relax into a smile. He wears a serious, sometimes even somber expression, for he is constantly on alert, ready to react to any threat to his world or those he protects. His gaze is often distant, marked by an introspective nature. His eyes constantly scan his surroundings, as if analyzing every movement, every rustle, every breath of wind, always on the lookout for what might emerge from the shadows.

He stands nearly 6'3", with dense musculature sculpted by years of rigorous training and survival in harsh environments. His body is that of a man forged by nature: strong, resilient, but also incredibly agile. His arms are powerful, his legs long and enduring, adapted to long runs in the forests or mountain climbs. His silhouette is athletic, but functional: he has no useless muscles. Every part of his body is adapted to survival and hunting. His agility often surprises those who observe him. He moves without noise, silent as a predator prowling in the shadows, each step measured, each movement precise.

His gait is feline, elegant and silent. He moves like a shadow among the trees, light but relentless. When he walks, he seems to float, his feet barely touching the ground, as if he were always ready to pounce, always ready to react to the slightest threat. This agility is not only physical, it is also mental: Jake is always ready to analyze his environment, to assess the risks, to choose the moment and the place to act. He embodies the man who has learned to survive, a warrior shaped by years of struggle and solitude.

Jake often wears functional and practical clothing, made for survival in the wilderness. He favors sturdy materials, such as tanned leather, fur, or the hides of animals he has hunted himself. His clothing is often designed for camouflage, with natural colors that blend in perfectly with the forest or mountain scenery. The leather chains and ropes that hang from his shoulders or belt are more than just accessories: they are tools, weapons, or symbols of his connection with nature. He always wears an animal pendant, a protective symbol, or a talisman that reminds him of the wisdom of his ancestors and the sacred mission he carries on his shoulders.

The dim afternoon light filtered through the branches of the trees, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Sim Jake sat there, sitting on a rough trunk, his body absorbing the tranquility of the forest, despite the pain of the wood against his skin. He was in complete harmony with nature, every rustle of the wind, every murmur of the water against the stones, every bird call melting into his mind like a familiar melody. His eyes were closed, his face impassive, but his senses were alert. Slightly tense, he knew he was not alone. He had sensed movement, a brushing, a quickening of the air.

The sweet, sugary scent of vanilla, mixed with the rich scent of honey, brushed past him then. A scent he would recognize among a thousand: yours. His heart, hardened by the years, skipped a beat, like a crack in his mask of calm. He knew it well, this scent, he had engraved it in him. Slowly, he smiled, a smile that first formed on his lips before being cleverly hidden. He didn't need to turn around to know it was you. He could almost hear you approaching, your hesitant steps, the tension palpable in your body. Fear, excitement, all of it mixed in the air around you.

He waited a moment, savoring the closeness that consumed him from the inside. Then, when you froze, unsure of your place, he slowly opened his eyes, staring into your gaze. It was more than just an exchange of glances, it was a silent duel between two souls in confrontation. He pierced you with his amber eyes, their almost hypnotic glow, filled with barely contained desire, and the tension rose instantly. Your eyes widened under his piercing gaze, but you couldn't look away. You felt trapped by that gaze, by that invisible hold he had over you.

“I didn’t know you were here,” you whispered hastily, unable to hide the nervousness in your voice. A slight backward movement, and you lost your balance. Before you could even fall, he was there. His arms, strong and sure, grabbed you by the waist, steadying you effortlessly. A shiver slid down your spine. Even once he had you back on balance, he didn’t let go. His hands tightened around you, a deliberate, almost possessive touch. You could feel every muscle of his body beneath your skin, every pulse of his desire. His eyes never left yours, unforgiving, almost expectant.

Your heart was beating faster, each beat resonating in your temples. The stars in your eyes were twinkling with an uncontrollable brilliance, capturing the embarrassment, the excitement. He was almost amused by it. He watched you, saying nothing, delighting in the fragility of this moment, like a predator stalking its prey.

“Come,” he said, his voice low and authoritative, almost an order. He guided you to his makeshift chair with a sudden but controlled movement, as if there was no doubt about where you were supposed to be. You sat down slowly, your body still a little shaken by the embrace he had given you. He settled himself next to you, his body close to yours, his warmth brushing against you with every breath.

“Thanks… you didn’t have to do that,” you whispered, the words barely coming out, like a shy confession. You didn’t know where to look anymore, your hands moving nervously in your lap. The silence grew heavy, punctuated by your panting breaths and his, deeper and more controlled. Then, in one fluid movement, Jake reached out his hand to yours, grasping it gently but firmly. His touch was reassuring, but an unbearable heat was slowly rising between you. He wrapped his fingers around it, as if to anchor you to him.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he said, his voice deeper, more relentless, like a warning. He stroked the back of your hand gently with his thumb, each movement slow and measured, but each touch electrifying. The tenderness of his gesture contrasted with the harshness of his words, and you felt a wave of desire wash over you, uncontrollable. A moan held itself back in your throat, stifled by the tension. You didn’t even dare move, so intense was the intensity of his gaze anchoring you to his will.

Silence stretched between the two of you, a silence heavy with unspoken words. Only the wind blew, the leaves rustled softly. Then a majestic eagle flew near you, landing on Jake's forearm. He greeted him with disconcerting familiarity, holding out his arm as if the animal were a brother. You watched, fascinated, the silent exchanges between man and creature, and a shiver ran through you as you realized the intimacy of this moment. The animals were listening to him, had always listened to him. It was the magic of his clan, this mystical bond that you had always believed to be nothing more than a myth.

“So your clan really talks to animals?” you whispered, intrigued. You had seen these creatures interact with him, but seeing him in action, so natural, so sovereign, electrified you. A smile touched his lips as he looked away from you.

“Yes, but we avoid doing it. It takes a lot of energy,” he replied calmly. He pushed back a few strands of his hair, but even that gesture failed to quell the intensity emanating from him. His hair fell over his face again, creating a stark contrast to his fierce gaze.

A light laugh escaped you, unconscious, amused by the contrast between the ruthless man and the gentleness of his gestures towards the creature. Jake growled under his breath, a muffled but powerful sound. You gave him a teasing pout, and the dynamic changed. This tension between you, which had become almost unbearable, erupted in a moment of new intimacy.

“Let me help you,” you said suddenly, a shaky breath escaping your lips. You bit your lip, hesitant. Then, with a delicate but confident movement, you slid behind him, your fingers brushing his skin. His hair, thick and silky, slipped beneath your fingers. A shiver ran through him, and you felt his body tense under your touch, a low moan escaping his lips. Each movement of your fingers on his scalp seemed to break him a little more, and each gesture was a silent promise.

As you parted his locks to begin braiding his hair, you took your time, savoring the contact, the constant brushing of your skin against his. He let you, but you felt the tension growing, almost palpable. You felt his breathing intensify under your fingers, his skin burning. The gestures were simple, but the desire that emanated from them was heavy, almost suffocating. Each braid you made was a small victory over his discipline, a gradual disintegration of his reserves. And you knew it. Each movement brought him a little closer to the inevitable.

You had barely finished braiding his hair when Jake suddenly moved, with that precision and force that took your breath away every time. His hands, rough and powerful, grabbed you firmly, without care. Your body lifted as if you weighed nothing and he made you slide onto his thighs. The movement caught you off guard. You rocked against him, and a soft, almost involuntary moan escaped your lips. You felt the reassuring pressure of his hand against your back, preventing your head from hitting the wet, muddy ground. This contrast between brutality and this subtle protection destabilized you every time, as if he was perpetually dancing between primal instinct and total control.

You stood there for a moment, your hands instinctively seeking support on his broad, strong shoulders. Beneath your fingers, you could feel the warmth of his skin despite his clothes, the tension in his muscles contracting slightly under your touch. Your breath became erratic, uncontrolled, as you were forced to look up at him. His gaze literally pierced you, his amber eyes shining with an almost predatory intensity. He said nothing, but his eyes spoke for him: they were greedy, possessive, as if he was silently claiming this moment and your entire person.

He was scrutinizing you as if he wanted to dissect you, analyze every detail of your face, every imperfection that you thought you had, but which, under his gaze, became treasures. His hand, still placed on the small of your back, began to move, drawing lazy circles with the tips of his fingers. A gesture both tender and possessive, almost distracted, but which caused a wave of heat throughout your body.

He finally broke the silence with a hoarse, vibrant, almost animal voice.

“You are perfect.”

His tone was raw, without artifice. Those three words were a declaration, an immutable truth in his mind. Your heart clenched, pounding so hard in your chest that you were convinced he could hear it. Your face burned under the force of his words, your lips trembled slightly, and without thinking, you bit them. A nervous gesture, but one that didn't escape him.

Without warning, he reached out with his free hand, gently grasping your bottom lip between his thumb and index finger, extracting it from the prison of your teeth. The contact caused an uncontrolled shiver to run through you.

“Don’t,” he whispered, his voice lowered to a raspy breath that made you shudder. He didn’t look away, captivated by the way your eyelashes fluttered, your gaze oscillating between embarrassment and desire. His fingers gently brushed your lip, as if he were enjoying tasting it through his touch. Then, slowly, they slid down your cheek. The caress was so gentle, so careful, that it contrasted brutally with the force he had used to sit you on his lap. The paradox completely disarmed you, and a small noise escaped your throat—a mixture of surprise, confusion, but mostly pleasure.

You swallowed hard, searching for words to break the suffocating moment. “What if… what if we were seen?” you finally breathed, your voice weak, trembling, almost inaudible. The words sounded strange to you, as if they were coming from another version of you, one less overwhelmed by the warmth of his body against yours.

He hears you, of course he does. Jake always hears you, like he’s connected to you in a way you don’t fully understand yet. But his answer, when it comes, is a low growl that resonates in his chest. “It’s not a problem.” His deep, vibrant voice cuts through you, awakening something primal within you. It wasn’t a promise or an assumption. It was a certainty, an absolute statement. Nothing and no one mattered when it came to you.

Without giving you time to answer or object, he slowly leaned towards you. His warm breath brushed your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You felt his gaze linger on your lips, then your eyes, perhaps seeking implicit permission. Then, his lips met yours.

It was a disconcerting kiss, as gentle as it was intense. His lips brushed yours with an unexpected, almost experimental delicacy, as if he were trying to hold back all the passion and rawness that burned beneath the surface. But you felt it all, every shiver, every hint of repressed desire in that touch. His hand on your back tightened slightly, anchoring you against him, while the other moved up along your jaw to frame your face.

You hesitated at first, but the warmth of his touch and the energy emanating from him consumed you. You let yourself go, responding to his kiss with awkward shyness. It seemed to encourage him. The kiss became more insistent, his lips pressing yours with more force, demanding this time. You felt the urgency in his gestures, this almost desperate desire to have you all.

The atmosphere around you seemed to thicken. The sounds of the forest faded, replaced by the sound of your intermingled breaths. The tension was palpable, suffocating, but you couldn't detach yourself from it. A part of you, as frightened as it was by the magnetic force of this man, couldn't help but succumb to it.

You stand before the temple of the House of Aerolis, a celestial place atop a windswept mountain. This house, deeply connected to the air, the heavens, and the element of wind, is in perfect harmony with nature. The members of the House of Aerolis are renowned for their innate grace, their keen intellect, and their free spirit, capable of breaking free from the constraints of the material world. Yet behind this freedom lies an unwavering discipline, imposed not only by ancient traditions, but also by the very nature of their connection to the winds. They seek to maintain a constant balance between freedom of spirit and responsibility, between endless mobility and inner stability, between outer chaos and inner calm.

The House of Aerolis is located in a majestic landscape, on high plateaus beaten by the winds, overlooking the cliffs that plunge into the immensity of the ocean. The temple, with its airy and light structure, seems suspended in the air, blending harmoniously with the surrounding skies. Its translucent walls capture the light of day, folding it into subtle and shimmering nuances that dance on the surface of the stones. The architecture of the temple, made of soft and sinuous lines, recalls the fluidity of wind and clouds.

The large openings allow fresh air to flow in, giving a feeling of freedom and lightness, as if the building were floating above the ground. The interior of the temple is both minimalist and rich in symbolism: feathers carved into the walls, patterns of wind and light subtly integrated into the stained glass and decorations. Their emblem — a golden eagle feather crossed by a swirling current of air, on a light blue and gold background — adorns every corner, symbolizing lightness, precision and perpetual movement.

It is in this place of calm and beauty that you find yourself, lost in your thoughts. You were thinking about the rigor of the House of Aerolis, their discipline, the purity of their connection with the air and their ability to achieve perfect balance. Then, without warning, you hit something soft, almost ethereal. A sensation as light as silk, but endowed with an unexpected strength and resilience. You step back abruptly, preparing to apologize, but your words freeze in your throat when you see wings in front of you.

Bright white wings, almost supernaturally pure, spread majestically. Under the dim candlelight, they shine with a silvery sheen, as if woven from threads of moonlight and heavenly breeze. The tips of the feathers have golden or pale blue hues, capturing the light of the sky and the sun, shimmering with a soft, luminous intensity. These wings are not just beautiful; they embody a symbol of absolute freedom and divine purity. They seem to emerge from the wind, like a heavenly message.

The person wearing these wings turns around slowly, and you feel an aura of calm and mastery surrounding him. He gives off an impression of perfect control, like a calm sea whose depths hide a power ready to be released. His presence, far from being imposing, is of a silent nobility, like a breath of fresh air. He seems to belong to another world, as if he were never affected by torments or storms, whether internal or external. But in his calm, you also feel a discreet force, a contained energy that could, if necessary, transform into an irresistible gust.

His face, delicately sculpted, is marked by an obvious serenity. The defined jaw and slightly high cheekbones accentuate the elegance of his features, emphasizing a timeless and natural beauty. His lips are thin and slightly pink, often curved in a discreet smile, but filled with sincerity, like the one he displays at this moment. He does not need to speak to impose his charm: his beauty emanates from him like a soft mist, invasive and captivating.

Her hair, pale white, evokes the clarity of dawn, as if illuminated by a clean, soft, and almost unreal light. It falls in light waves on her shoulders, subtly curling to the rhythm of the wind that makes them play. A few strands frame her face, bringing a fluidity and lightness to her entire silhouette. Her eyes, a light gray almost translucent, capture the light in an almost supernatural way, diffusing silvery flashes that make her gaze piercing and captivating.

Every time he stares at you, his eyes seem to see beyond the surface, as if he were peering into your most secret thoughts and emotions. There is nothing intimidating in his gaze: on the contrary, it is like an open window onto a pure soul, capable of piercing the invisible.

His skin is almost translucent in its clarity, as if shaped by light itself. It captures the reflections of the sun, returning soft bursts, reminiscent of the first glimmers of dawn or the silvery light of the moon. He exudes an aura of quiet perfection, a natural beauty that is reflected in every detail, every movement. His body, slender and harmonious, has a discreet but present musculature, sculpted by the winds and the rigor of his education. His upright posture, noble and elegant, adds to the fluidity of his gestures, reinforcing the impression that he moves with the lightness of a breath.

He wears a bright white silk jeogori, fitted perfectly to his slender figure. The fine texture of the silk subtly catches the light, creating a luminous aura around him. The collar and sleeves of the garment are embroidered with silver and gold threads, forming airy patterns that recall the movement of the wind and the fluidity of clouds. The embroidery, depicting feathers, bursts of light, and waves of wind, symbolizes his deep connection with the air.

The sleeves are slightly loose, with thin edges that mimic the graceful movement of the wind, while the bottom of her outfit consists of a chima, a long, flowing skirt in silver and pale blue tones. This light and shimmering fabric accentuates her silhouette and follows each of her steps with perfect grace. At the front, the skirt is slightly shorter, revealing elegant boots, but it remains long at the back, creating a feeling of fluid and airy movement.

Celestial patterns, stars and wind waves, are embroidered on the bottom of the chima, adding a divine dimension to the entire outfit. At her waist, a feather-shaped norigae, a traditional decorative pendant, symbolizes her lightness and freedom, completing the entire appearance.

“It’s nothing, it’s just me.” Sunghoon’s voice is soft, almost whispered, but each word resonates with a firmness that touches you deep inside. He speaks with such tranquility that the air around you seems to hang, his tone warming the atmosphere in a delicate, yet overwhelming way. When he speaks, his words glide like a light breeze, but their weight lingers in the air, settling on you, enveloping every fiber of your being with a presence that doesn’t dissipate.

“Just you.” You answer, your lips whispering the words almost without thinking, but your body doesn’t lie. A warmth settles inside you, a tingling sensation that starts at the tips of your fingers and slowly moves up your arms, like a soft, irresistible burn. Your hands itch, an uncontrollable need to touch, to brush him, to grab him, but you hold yourself back. Not here, not in this temple. This is a sacred place, too many people around. The fear of transgression prevents you from giving in to the urge.

His smile is discreet, but piercing. He says nothing, but his lips curve slightly, as if he knows exactly what you feel, as if he perceives the desire that floats between you, as tangible as the air itself. He looks at you for a moment, but in a heavy silence, you see his eyes slowly detach from yours, as if, suddenly, you become insignificant, lost in the immensity of the room. And before you have time to react, he turns away from you, his back facing you in an almost supernatural fluidity.

Then, a gust of wind suddenly brushes your face. It is not a simple breath, but a caress, warm and effervescent, which seems to invade you, brushing your skin with an intriguing softness. This wind heads straight towards your ears, carrying an almost inaudible murmur, a word, a place, a secret meeting place. The air around you seems to thicken, to be charged with a promise, an invitation that you do not yet dare to understand.

You look up at him, but he is already far away, his silhouette disappearing into the crowd, in perfect harmony with the movement around him. Every gesture, every movement is astonishingly light, as if it were made of wind and air. His body moves with a captivating fluidity, a perfect sequence of calculated gestures, but with an almost magical ease. It is as if he is not walking, but floating, barely touching the ground, each step a silent dance. His grace is incredible, almost hypnotic, and each movement you observe seems more natural than the last. As if everything, in his gait, in his way of being, was governed by a law that only you can still understand.

And yet, this approach, as fluid as it is, carries a certain heaviness. He is not light by simple choice; he is a silent force, a calm wind ready to turn into a storm. Each gesture echoes a contained power, an energy ready to be released. And in this perfect self-control, there is something that draws you irresistibly. Each movement, each gesture seems to be an invitation, a silent promise that, perhaps, he is waiting for you to lose yourself in the intensity of this tension that is woven between you.

The urge to get closer becomes unbearable. It's as if you were suspended in an invisible thread, stretched between him and you, quivering with each step he takes, bringing you ever closer to this border that you dare not cross. The tension is palpable, vibrating, like a rope ready to give way. He is there, and you know that he knows what you feel, what you desire. And he lets you, gently, slowly, sink into this torpor of repressed desire, all the while controlling every second, every breath, every quiver that passes through you.

You are caught in this subtle and dangerous game that he plays effortlessly, and yet, every movement, every word of his brings you closer to the moment when you will know that you will no longer be able to hold back. When you will know that everything you desire is within reach, but that the moment has not yet come. And in this waiting, in this suspended tension, he leaves you there, panting, eager for more, without ever breaking the silence.

The lake before you stretches as far as the eye can see, a sea of black ink that only the silvery shards of the moon touch timidly. The air is heavy, saturated with this strange sensation that no wind will break, a stifling and icy heat at the same time. You feel the humidity on your skin, this nighttime freshness that sticks to your clothes and seeps under your skin, but that's not what bothers you. It's him. Sunghoon. He's there, right next to you, and you feel every micro-movement of his body like a pressure, an invitation, a threat. He has this insidious power of not needing to touch you to invade you, to penetrate every corner of your being.

He's so close that you can feel the warmth of his body mingling with yours. Not close enough for his fingers to brush your skin, but close enough for each second spent by his side to seem to stretch time. His arms are folded behind him, his wings folded in an almost divine silence, but you know he's attentive to every detail: to the way you stand, to the tension emanating from you. You feel his gaze on you, burning and insistent, like an invisible caress. It's a piercing, almost intrusive observation that destabilizes you, reduces you to prey before his eyes.

You sit there, at the front of the boat, your eyes fixed on the black water, trying to focus on the darkness rather than on this presence that seems to engulf you. Your fingers brush the icy surface of the water, tracing almost hypnotic circles. The biting cold seems to penetrate your bones, but it does not reach the burning core inside you. This contrast between the outside and the inside makes you nervous, quivering. What disturbs you is not the cold, but the intensity of the situation. The weight of the air, heavy and suffocating, between you.

You feel his gaze, even when you refuse to meet it. His eyes, deep gray, are fixed on you with icy precision. You know he is scrutinizing you, trying to read every micro-expression on your face. Every quiver of your body, every press of your lips, he captures everything. And that is what irritates you. He watches you like a predator, ready to seize every movement, every misstep. His silence, heavy with meaning, is more intimidating than any words. Because he does not need to speak to make you understand that he knows all your secrets, all your desires.

You feel your heart beating faster in your chest, and you force your expression to remain implacable, to not let it show how much he affects you. But inside, each second of silence makes the heat grow, more and more burning. It's like a tension that strengthens with each moment, an inner pressure that you can't push back. His calm, his apparent control, plunges you into a state of nervousness, as if you were about to crack.

You finally break the silence, your voice cutting through the air with a barely concealed coldness.

“Are you going to stare at me like that all night, Sunghoon?” The question is more of a taunt than a real inquiry. But deep down, there’s a silent defiance. Because you know he likes it. He likes it when you try to push him away, when you try to draw out the emotion he knows he stirs in you.

Time stretches between you. An almost unbearable silence. He doesn't answer immediately, of course. He likes the wait, he likes to see how long you can hold out without giving in to this desire he awakens in you. Then, finally, he tilts his head slightly, his pale white hair moving gently in the nonexistent breeze, catching the faint light of the moon. The movement is of a calculated slowness, almost divine. He smiles then, slowly, a smile that hides no warmth, but that makes you feel as if the warmth itself has died down, giving way to a biting coldness.

“Maybe,” he finally whispers, his voice as deep as the whisper of a cold wind. It’s a simple word, almost innocuous, but you know every syllable weighs, every word calculated. “Watching you struggle with yourself is a fascinating sight.”

His words hit you like electric waves. A shock that runs through your body, but you ignore it, you force your mind to remain impassive, to not show how much he affects you. But deep down, a part of you knows that what he says is true. You fight. Against him. Against yourself. Against this desire that consumes you, and he knows it. He sees through your attempts to control, he sees the burn under your skin, the desire that rises with every look he lays on you.

You straighten up a little, clench your fists to keep your composure, and you answer, more curtly: "I'm not fighting."

A quiet chuckle escapes his lips. He leans back a little, his wings folded behind him in a studied gesture of relaxation. But you know he hasn’t let up. He’s testing you, waiting to see how far he can push you. You know every movement of his body is carefully considered, every word he speaks a strategic move in this silent game, and he loves it. He loves seeing how hard you try to stay in control of yourself while being utterly vulnerable under his gaze.

Suddenly, he moves. One of his wings spreads slowly, majestically. The movement is fluid, hypnotic. You can't take your eyes off his silhouette, the way his wings open slowly, like an invitation, a trap. Before you know what's happening, he slams the wing down on the water.

The impact is brutal. Water splashes everywhere, crashing against you with icy violence. You don't even have time to react before the water hits you in the face, overwhelming you with cold. The shock is instantaneous, brutal. Your muscles contract under the impact, your breathing stops, and you feel your heart racing. An icy coldness invades your body, each drop of water hitting you like needles. And your dress, thin and light, becomes transparent under the water, immediately sticking to your skin.

You sit up abruptly, caught between anger and cold. Your body is tense, everything inside you is electric, ready to explode. “Park Sunghoon!” Your voice pierces the silence of the night, sharp, furious, but also full of this frustration that is rising inside you. He provokes you, pushes you, and he knows it.

He doesn't answer. He lets the water trickle down from his wing, the drops slowly hitting the wood of the boat. He seems detached, almost serene, as if this is all a game. He looks away, feigning innocence with an infuriating nonchalance.

But you know. You know that every move he makes, every word he says, is meant to test your limits. And it burns you. This power grab he has over you is so carefully calculated, so subtle, that you can no longer tell if you're losing yourself or winning this game. The line is blurring.

In an almost imperceptible gesture, he looks down at you, a predatory smile slipping across his lips. He moves closer. You instinctively back away, until your back hits the edge of the boat. You are trapped. He moves closer slowly, his wings spreading around him, cutting off any escape. And in his gaze, you see a new light. Darker. Hungrier.

The wind blew around you with an icy bite, making your already damp skin shiver from cold water, but no cold could penetrate the armor of warmth that emanated from Sunghoon. His eyes, dark and piercing, did not leave the quivering silhouette that you had become under his gaze. Every movement of your body, every tremor, seemed to attract him more, like a prey that he observed from afar before capturing it, slowly, inevitably.

You shivered more, but not only because of the cold. It was him, his presence, the intensity of his gaze on you, almost burning. You had never had the impression that someone could see you so deeply, pierce your most secret, most hidden layers. And yet, it was not just a look. It was a promise of possession, a veiled threat.

“You’re cold.” His soft, yet firm voice struck you like a barely grazed blade. He knew you were cold, he knew everything, and he was there, in that heavy silence, studying you with disturbing precision. But he didn’t wait for an answer. There was no need for words. He stood there, dominating, ready to destroy whatever independence remained in you.

Before you could even react, he stepped closer, a quiet strength emanating from him, and in an instant, you found yourself against him, glued to his muscular chest. The heat that emanated from his body enveloped you immediately, but there was nothing comforting about this heat. It was a devouring heat, a heat that seized you, that consumed you, and yet, you had no desire to get out of it. His skin, warm and firm against yours, made you close your eyes for a moment, an uncontrollable shiver running through your body.

He didn’t let go of you. His arms wrapped around you in a firm but not rough grip, pulling you closer to him, as if you were a part of him, as if he were claiming you for himself, without embellishment, without return. There was a dominance in the gesture, a claim that you felt deep in your gut. But this dominance wasn’t simply physical. It was in every word he spoke, in every silence between you, in the very air you breathed. It was a pressure, a palpable tension, that forced you to abandon what you thought was your will.

“Let me warm you up.” The words escaped his lips with a softness that contrasted strangely with the harshness of his gesture. There was no tenderness in the gesture. Only raw power, a need to possess you, to pull you closer to him. His wings, large and majestic, folded around you, a shield, a cage, but also a promise. Their warmth enveloped your body like a blanket, but there was something much darker in that embrace.

The feathers of his wings brushed your skin, but they weren't just soft. They were alive, almost organic, reacting to every movement of your body, your breathing. You shuddered at every brush, every furtive caress, as if they were tasting you, testing you. This contact, both tender and threatening, made a dull heat rise in your veins. Each movement brought you closer to him, but also pushed you into a form of submission that you could no longer ignore.

You didn't dare look up at him, but you knew he was watching you, every little shiver that ran through your body not escaping him. He felt you, he read you, and you were aware of it. His arms held you tighter, but it wasn't enough. He wanted more. He wanted you more.

You let yourself go for a moment, your whole body pressing against his, seeking a more intense, deeper warmth. Your face nestled against his chest, and you felt the vibration of his heart beating, slowly, strongly, like a reminder of the life that bubbled in his veins, of the life that was happening in this proximity.

A soft sigh escaped your lips, a sigh that you couldn't even hold back. He immediately took advantage of it, his hands sliding over your skin, making you tremble even more. He knew exactly where and how to touch you to provoke this response in you. He didn't say anything. He let the tension rise, slowly, inexorably.

“You’re so mean to me,” you breathed, your voice cracking, your breath short. It was a complaint, but also an invitation, a form of resistance disguised as submission. You clung to him, your hands clenching on his clothes, as if to mark your territory in this embrace that consumed you.

He leaned in slightly, his breath warm on your ear. “I’ll be gentler with you then.” His voice vibrated with a desire you could almost touch, and you shuddered at the impact of his words. But his arms didn’t loosen. He held you close, forcing you to feel the heat he radiated, the dominance he imposed. There was a latent danger in all of this, a threat that hovered between you. It was an intricate dance, between control and loss of control, between what he wanted from you and what you desired from him.

The wind that had previously blown with an icy bite had turned into a surprisingly gentle warmth, like a burning caress that was slowly drying you, erasing the moisture from your skin still struck by the icy water. Each quiver of the breeze against your body only amplified the tension that was forming between you, as if the air itself was charged with this inescapable attraction. The wind brushed your skin with an almost sensual softness, making you shiver insidiously, but it wasn't the cold that was invading you. No, it was him. Sunghoon. His presence was omnipresent, a suffocating heat that was slowly gaining on you.

You didn't have time to think about what was happening, your whole being prey to this wave of contradictory sensations. You felt his hand, warm and possessive, slowly slide over the small of your back. The contact of his fingers against your skin was as intrusive as it was delectable, each movement controlled, each caress increasing the pressure of his hold on your body. You didn't have to see him to know what he was doing. When his hand moved down slightly, lingering on the curve of your buttocks, his fingers brushing the delicate skin before gripping it firmly, you made a movement of recoil, indignant, short of breath. A dark look, filled with defiance, escaped your eyes, but Sunghoon didn't flinch. On the contrary, he seemed to savor every fraction of a second where you tried to push him away, to resist the irresistible attraction he exerted on you.

He said nothing. No words left his lips. He was much more comfortable in this heavy silence, the one that filled the space with this palpable tension. His lips finally approached yours, slowly, with total assurance, as if the simple fact of doing so was his way of marking his territory, of making you understand that you had no escape. And before you could even make the slightest move to move away, he pressed his lips against yours in a merciless kiss, without warning, without the slightest gentleness. This kiss was an order disguised as a gesture, a silent affirmation of his power. He kissed you without any embarrassment, his lips imposing themselves on yours, forcing you to respond, to yield.

His body pressed against yours, harder and harder, as if every inch of space between you was unbearable. He had never touched you like this, so rough, so possessive. His arms held you so tightly that you couldn't move, a cage of bone and muscle that allowed you no escape. And his wings, those majestic wings, pressed slowly against you, the feathers brushing your skin, bringing a soft but threatening warmth, like a burning blanket.

You were trapped. He held you against him, his body pressed against yours, forcing you to feel every muscle, every breath, every beat of his heart in his chest. Every movement of his lips on yours bewitched you, besieged you, forcing you to lose yourself in this kiss that had nothing tender about it. It was a silent war, a battle of wills, where you were at the mercy of his domination, his absolute mastery.

Lee Heeseung wandered through the enigmatic garden of the House of Liraelle, a space where the boundary between reality and imagination seemed to dissolve. This garden was a suspended world, frozen in a forgotten era, every inch of land imbued with the secrets of the House, a dwelling marked by obsession, all-consuming passion, and the unfathomable mysteries of the past. The ground, covered in a carpet of dark leaves and faded petals, seemed to be absorbed by the shadow of the gigantic trees, which swallowed up everything under their canopy. Heeseung advanced slowly, his step measured, his gaze lost in the beauty of the place, all the while remaining deeply aware of the threatening aura that enveloped him.

The garden paths, lined with black roses with deep purple petals, were both sumptuous and fearsome. These flowers, of a macabre beauty, seemed to suck in the light, as if the night itself was hiding in their shadows. Their scent, both sweet and pernicious, floated in the air, causing a slight dizziness. Bewitching and almost intoxicating, it also awakened a sense of unease, a scent of forbidden desire and obsession. This scent wrapped itself around the skin, impregnating the soul of those who dared to venture into this garden. Heeseung stopped for a moment, staring at the roses as if trying to decipher their secret language. Each flower seemed to tell a part of the history of the House of Liraelle, a story woven of passion, suffering, pleasure and pain throughout the ages.

The black vines, twisted and tangled around ancient statues, formed hypnotic patterns. These sculptures, frozen in time, seemed to silently observe the young man's every movement. Some represented human figures, others mythological creatures: nymphs, chimeras, half-human, half-animal beings, immortalized in gestures of suffering or ecstasy. Covered in moss and lichen, marked by the wear of centuries, these statues had a strange glow in the eyes engraved in the stone, a glow of sleeping life. When the light filtered between the trees, it rested on these frozen forms, and dancing shadows seemed to come to life on their surface, like ghosts from the past, ready to emerge from their sleep.

The stone fountains, decorated with mystical carvings, gave off a constant murmur, a hypnotic melody that filled the air. The water, clear but dark blue, rushed into deep pools, lined with unfathomable patterns that seemed to transform under the reflections. These symbols, similar to the ancient runes of the founders of the House, carried within them occult secrets and forgotten knowledge. The steady sound of the water echoed in Heeseung's mind, a reminder of the permanence of time, of the inexorable flow of centuries.

At the heart of the garden, a pond of inky black water seemed to scrutinize intruders. The smooth, still surface of the water seemed magical, as if the pond were a door to another world, where natural laws no longer applied. Black lilies, imposing and majestic, floated on the surface, their petals bursting with mystery and danger. The thin stems bent slowly under the weight of the water, but their beauty, fascinating and obscure, was undeniable. At times, a slight ripple crossed the pond, as if something was hidden in the depths, an invisible being, a ghost waiting for the right moment to emerge. The air around the pond was cold, impregnated with a strange humidity that made breathing difficult. The shadows under the water moved slowly, like nameless shapes, ready to emerge at any moment. The atmosphere of the place, both calm and threatening, reinforced the impression of mystery that reigned there.

With each step Heeseung took, the garden seemed to close in around him. The shadows of the trees and statues increased this feeling of confinement, while enhancing the haunting beauty of this place. He advanced with a slow, thoughtful pace, absorbed in contemplating the wonders and horrors of the House of Liraelle, his gaze gliding over each detail with intimate knowledge. His black clothes, made of velvet and satin, absorbed the light, just like the petals of the black roses. He moved with the grace of a being of shadows, the silver and crimson embroidery of his tunic representing black roses intertwined with brambles and vines, a reflection of his belonging to this enigmatic house, marked by danger and prohibition.

His figure, long and slender, seemed unreal in this setting, a solitary specter among the shadows. The tight but fluid cut of his tunic emphasized his majestic figure, while allowing him to move effortlessly, like a shadow among the shadows. The long, slightly flared sleeves floated around him, creating a hypnotic effect. His appearance evoked that of an ethereal being, both divine and demonic, depending on the eye that looked at him. The contrasts between the dark velvet, the satin and the delicate embroidery in silver and crimson added an almost sacred dimension to his appearance. Every detail, every fold of his clothes seemed designed to maintain a subtle balance between nobility and danger, beauty and menace.

His eyes, silvery white tinged with carmine, shone with an icy intensity. They captured the light in a strange, almost supernatural way, like mirrors capable of sucking the soul out of those they stared at. That piercing gaze seemed capable of penetrating the very essence of things, of revealing the secrets buried in hearts and stones. There was no warmth in his eyes, just a distant coldness, but that coldness was in reality an abyss, a well of desire and devouring passion.

Her face, with its sharp features and delicately defined jaw, exuded an icy nobility, a rare and almost frightening beauty. Her lips, perfectly drawn, remained motionless, betraying neither smile nor anger, but a controlled serenity, as if every gesture had to be measured, every emotion contained. Her nose, straight and perfectly proportioned, completed her impenetrable face. And her hair, an almost black burgundy red, was carefully styled, slicked back, falling lightly around her shoulders. Their fluid texture seemed made of living tissue, like the extension of a complex and profound soul.

Heeseung walked slowly, each movement weighed down by the weight of his thoughts, as if he were irresistibly drawn to the inevitable. Then, suddenly, he felt it before he could even see it. A vibration, slight but piercing, passed through the air around him, disturbing the eerie calm of the garden. It was as if the air itself was contracting, suspended in infinite expectation. A shiver ran down his spine, and he suddenly found himself unable to look away. He turned his head slowly, his body reacting instinctively to the silent call. There, in the dense shadow of the black roses, your silhouette emerged. At first blurred, a fragile form lost in this hypnotic setting. But there was something more than your mere presence: a dense energy, a magnetic force that seemed to make the space around him vibrate. It was like you weren't just a person, but a living embodiment of everything this garden represented: danger, desire, and pure beauty.

He finally stopped, frozen by the intensity of what he felt. His eyes fixed on you, anchoring themselves to every detail of your silhouette. Each movement seemed slow, almost calculated, as if you were making sure that his perception of you was as precise as possible. He could see the shadows playing on your face, accentuating your skin and the finesse of your features. The rays of light that filtered between the trees grazed your skin, creating bursts that danced on your body with an incredible sensuality. Your silhouette, wrapped in dark clothing, seemed to merge with the surrounding shadows, giving the impression that you were neither entirely real nor entirely spectral. An illusion from which he could not escape.

Heeseung took a step forward, almost unconsciously. The heady smell of the garden mingled with your perfume, a fragrance that wasn't simply floral, but seemed to belong to something more primitive, more carnivorous. A scent of decaying flowers, of raw sensuality, of an insistent and secret desire. He could feel your warmth, even from this distance. It was a silent invitation, but clear. He didn't hesitate to answer this call, his fingers brushing your arm, delicately at first, then more firmly, as if to mark his territory, to anchor you to him. The contact between his skin and yours produced an electric shock that made your entire flesh vibrate, a shiver that went up your spine and made your heart beat faster. You tensed under his touch, your breathing more jerky, more burning, as if his simple contact activated an uncontrollable physical reaction in you.

He spun you around slowly, his fingers squeezing your arm a little tighter, making you shudder under the gentle yet authoritative pressure. He wasn’t just looking at you. He was probing you, trying to read every detail in your eyes, every micro-expression on your face. The tension between you two was palpable, almost tangible. “I didn’t know you were interested in flowers…” His voice, low and caressing, brushed your ears like a whisper of promise, but also of warning. Each word was loaded with innuendo. His fingers slid gently along your arm, a light but striking caress, as if touching you belonged to him and he was slowly making it his own, with a delicacy that was only a shadow of the brutality hidden within him.

You stood there silently for a moment, your gaze lost in his eyes, as if listening to something deeper than words. Then, a barely perceptible smile played on your lips, a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “They’re pretty… and smell good. Besides, this is the only place I can find them.” Your voice was soft, but it carried an underlying weight. There was no simplicity in your answer, just a veiled invitation, an implicit challenge to want more. There was nothing innocent in your words. Each syllable was a silent promise, an invitation to a dangerous dance he couldn’t ignore.

A soft chuckle escaped Heeseung’s lips, a low, guttural sound, almost animalistic. There was no joy in the laugh, just a palpable intensity, a burning desire that was just waiting to be expressed. “Are you talking about me… or the flowers?” His eyes, burning with desire, fixed on you, and he applied more pressure to your arm, hard enough to remind you of his presence, to mark your body with his imprint. He leaned towards you slowly, the warmth of his skin mingling with yours, the scent of your skin mingling with that of the black roses that surrounded you. His lips brushed yours, but he didn’t stop there. He waited. Every movement of your body, every heavier breath, every quiver of your lips was an invitation to him to go further.

The closeness between you was suffocating, each movement more charged than the last, each breath more burning. The tension, pure and raw, seemed to twist the air around you. He knew you felt that same pull, that you were struggling as much as he was not to give in to the temptation that hung in the air. But he was stronger than that. He was far too powerful to be ignored, to be pushed away. His hand slid slowly up your arm, up your skin to your shoulder, where his fingers rested with authority, but with an unexpected gentleness, a perfect contradiction to the brutality of his thoughts.

He was waiting. Every move from you, a gesture, a word, a sigh. All he wanted to know was what you were going to do next.

“What if it was… for you?”

Your voice, deeper, almost slides over your skin, like a hypnotic whisper that caresses each syllable. There is a bewitching softness in your tone, an apparent lightness, but beneath that surface, hides something much darker, a subtle threat and a silent promise. A smile brushes your lips, furtive, enigmatic, a touch of mischief that seems almost innocent. Yet, you know, just as he does, that this smile hides much more—a deeper, more troubling desire, that engulfs you both. It is not a smile that one shares without measuring the consequences.

Heeseung doesn't take his eyes off you. His dark pupils, like endless abysses, leave no room for escape. Every detail of your face, every micro-expression, every movement of your body is observed, recorded, as if every gesture betrayed you. He knows, he feels everything you can't hide, and he waits. You see that mischievous glint in his gaze, and once again, you feel like prey facing his predator. Slowly, patiently, he gets closer. He's playing with you, and he knows it. You too.

He leans closer to you, and every move becomes a test. Every inch that separates your bodies seems to become an abyss. The air around you fills with a tension that becomes almost suffocating, heavy, electric. He barely brushes against you, but the space he leaves between you is saturated with desire. His eyes stare into yours, observing every flash of light, every nuance that makes your gaze shine. He captures every movement of your body, aware of everything you feel, of what you can no longer hide. Seduction becomes a more tangible, almost palpable game, more captivating with each second.

“Then I should prove myself worthy of your attention.”

His voice becomes softer, almost a caress. But his eyes remain icy, uncompromising. They don't let go of you, scrutinizing every movement, every reaction. He waits, he watches. He is on the lookout, ready to seize the slightest weakness, to exploit the slightest hesitation. Everything is calculated. He gets closer, and you feel his hot breath against your skin, the electricity in the air. The world around you seems to freeze as he stops just millimeters from your lips. Time stands still. Each second seems more unbearable than the last. His touch is almost too light to be real, but it is saturated with unbearable promises.

You know what he's looking for. You see in his eyes what he's waiting for, and despite everything, you can't help but give in to this game. Each breath you take becomes shorter, more rushed. Your heart beats faster, harder. The intensity of his gaze warms your skin, makes you shiver. You feel suspended between him and the fragile line that separates surrender from resistance. The slightest of your gestures, of your words, could tip everything over.

“Are you satisfied, or… do you want more?”

He whispers, his voice sweet as poison, a suspended challenge. It’s both an invitation and a test. He waits to see how far you’re willing to follow him, how many steps you’re willing to take in this dangerous dance. You shudder under his hot breath against your lips. Your body reacts before you can even think. A soft, devouring heat spreads through you, a warm, dizzying mist. You feel every fiber of your being trapped by desire, something more powerful, more unfulfilled, pushing you ever further.

You bite your lower lip, trying to hold back the moan that threatens to escape, a sound that would betray your fragility. The slightest noise, the slightest movement could push him to cross this invisible border that he has placed between you. And you know that once this line is crossed, there is no turning back. However, your body has already taken the lead. It anticipates every shiver, every reaction. You no longer have control, or at least, you no longer want to.

Each breath becomes harder, more panting. The air seems to thin around you. It becomes heavy, burning. An intimate heat spreads in your belly, cruel, insatiable, like a fire that only his presence can stoke.

“You know it’s never enough. I can never get enough of you.”

The words leave your lips in a shaky breath, your voice betraying your vulnerability. But you don’t even try to hide it anymore. You know it. He does too. And this is what he’s waiting for. You don’t even try to fight this desire anymore. You give yourself over to him, to this need that devours you. He smiles, a cruel smile, almost satisfied with having driven you to the brink of breaking.

His fingers slide slowly, almost lazily, from your shoulder to your chin, following every curve of your body with an almost unreal precision. With a possessive gesture, gentle but firm, he takes your face in his hand, straightening your head like a puppeteer. He forces your gaze to plunge into his. The intensity of his eyes mixes with the burning heat of his breath, and you feel your heart accelerate. The air between you is saturated with tension, heavy with unspoken promises, pleasure and pain.

He whispers against your lips, his voice husky and warm, a shiver running over your skin. “I know… I’m just having fun with you.”

The words barely leave his lips when his grip on your chin tightens abruptly. It's unexpected, almost violent, but with a violence that makes you shiver with pleasure. He finally presses his lips against yours. This kiss, you've waited for it, desired it, but it takes you by surprise, like a thunderbolt. His lips are hot, insistent, and you feel totally overwhelmed. This kiss is merciless. It devours you, takes you whole, prevents you from breathing, deprives you of everything except his desire. He gives you no respite.

Your hands, as if guided by an instinct you don't even understand, slide into his hair, squeezing it with desperate urgency. It's a last call to the illusion of control, but you know, deep down, that you've already lost it. The softness of his hair contrasts violently with the violence of his kiss. He dominates you, takes you in this merciless kiss, feeding on your desire. Every movement of his lips captures every shiver, every breath you lose.

And the more he kisses you, the more you want it. The more you lose yourself in his embrace. It's this contradiction that consumes you: every fiber of your being screams to escape, to run away, to regain some semblance of control, but every beat of your heart screams at you to give in, to abandon yourself completely to him.

This is a fight you can't win. And maybe, in reality, you don't even want to win it.

There you were, immersed in the stillness of a moment that at first seemed insignificant. Your fingers slowly traced the sacred characters on the parchment, each movement measured, each syllable carefully inscribed in the mystical flow of your task. Nothing could have prepared you for what was about to happen. A tremor. A subtle shudder beneath your feet, barely perceptible at first, an almost inaudible vibration that made your senses jump. You pause for a moment, a shiver running down your spine, trying to anchor yourself, to ignore the unexpected irruption. But the ground becomes unstable. Slightly at first, then more and more violently, as if the earth itself were trying to throw you into the void.

Your heart skips a beat. A crushing dizziness invades you, your body reacting with an instinctive jolt, a last effort to remain stable. But the ground is slipping away from under your feet. You are no longer in control of your body. Like a puppet detached from its strings, you fall forward, your head spinning, your gaze blurring in a whirlwind of light and darkness. Nausea invades you, tearing away all your grip on this dizzying fall. The world around you distorts. Then, suddenly, the intensity of the trembling ceases. An oppressive silence settles, heavy and absolute, as if the world had frozen. But this is not the end of the ordeal. It is the beginning of something much more terrible.

Short of breath, you open your eyes, trying to understand what is happening. The air here is strange. Thicker, colder, a feeling you can't ignore, as if the atmosphere itself is judging you. You slowly straighten up, the ground beneath your feet too cold, too hard to be natural. An icy shiver runs through you from head to toe, paralyzing you for a moment. This place is nothing like the one you knew. A feeling of unease tightens your throat.

Where are you?

Around you, shadows dance, forming indistinct outlines that dissipate into the suffocating mist. The walls seem to close in, their gigantic stones, worn by time, with a rough surface. Dust floats in the air, a faint, dreary glow coming from nowhere barely lighting this hostile setting. Your eyes begin to adjust to the gloom, searching for landmarks. And that's when you see it. The engraving. The emblem. It hits you with such intensity that a scream of terror catches in your throat, repressed by a panicked fear that spreads like a burn.

On the stone wall, the image of a black flame, twisted and deformed, shoots out from the center of what appears to be a circle of chains, these metal links intertwining around the flame like an inescapable cage. The flame, deep black, almost empty, seems to quiver in the darkness. It is there, tangible, like a living entity, ready to devour everything in its path. The impression that it is staring at you, that the emblem is devouring you with its gaze, paralyzes you. It is as if you can almost feel the heat of this flame, burning and overwhelming, without it touching your skin. This heat melts all logic, all coherent thought, enclosing you in an invisible trap.

Your heart races as waves of anxiety wash over you. You feel your legs give way beneath you, a crushing pressure washes over you. This flame… it is not just a symbol. It signifies destruction. The end of all that exists. You recognize it. The black flame… the flame of Ignis. The House of Ignis. The relentless unity. The justice of fire. Destruction. Purification through annihilation. The truth of a world burned.

A cold shiver runs through you. Your eyes remain fixed on the emblem, but your mind screams to flee. Every fiber of your being screams to escape, to break free, to abandon everything. But there is nowhere to go. You are trapped in this place, this other world, this world of flames and chains. And you know that at any moment, the House of Ignis, or what is left of it, will judge you. Their flames will burn away your sins, but they will consume everything. Even your soul.

Memories hit you in devastating waves. The House of Ignis. You had heard of them, whispered in dark alleys, in disreputable taverns. But now, rumor turns into reality. A burning and threatening reality. Bloody rituals, sacrifices, executions by fire. Their justice is not that of the other Houses. It does not seek to rehabilitate, to reform. No. Their justice is absolute. Evil must be erased, eradicated, consumed by flames so that purity can emerge. There is no going back. Only ultimate pain can bring redemption, a suffering etched in the flesh and the soul.

Fear overwhelms you. But it is not just a physical fear. It is a deeper, more essential terror. This House, these beings who compose it, believe that evil can only be destroyed by absolute pain, by fire. You see them, the Executioners of Ignis, the arms of flame, terrifying beings, trained to inflict pure suffering. They are not here to punish. They are here to purify. To annihilate. Their flames do not discriminate, they consume everything in their path, without mercy.

A feeling of nausea rises inside you. What if you were their next target? What if you were judged by that merciless flame? Just thinking about it twists your insides. Images form in your mind: bodies burned, souls erased, justice served by incineration. And that black flame, that cold and violent abomination, stares at you, ready to devour everything you are.

Your breath catches. The world around you blurs, your legs tremble beneath you. You want to scream. But no sound comes out. The air is heavy. The space, confined. You feel trapped, the symbol on the wall staring at you with a morbid intensity. There is no redemption here, no escape. The only path open to you is purification by fire. But can you bear what that entails? The black flame, the chains… all of this is the end of one cycle, and the beginning of another. A cycle you did not choose.

The black mist that surrounds you doesn't just seem to envelop you, it slowly swallows you, a dense, cold mass that tightens around you like an invisible vice. It creeps into your lungs, mixing with your breath, weighing down each inhalation, each exhalation. Your lungs swell painfully, as if an iron weight were pressing down on them, forcing them to contract under a stifling heat, an inner fire that keeps growing, ready to explode. You try to breathe deeply, but the air is lacking, the space around you compressing, narrowing each breath. Your throat tightens in an uncontrollable spasm, the walls of your trachea burned by the heat, a painful acid rising inside you, devouring your will.

The air itself, laden with this oppressive presence, seems to grow thicker, heavier with each beat of your heart. Each pulsation, throbbing and brutal, vibrates in your eardrums, a dull and menacing echo that reminds you that you are no longer master of your own body. Your heart beats faster and faster, its cadence frantic, a war drum in your chest, both reassuring and terrifying. This agitation is only the reflection of your growing terror, a terror that distills itself in every fiber of your being. You know that you cannot flee, that what awaits you is inevitable. Yet you cannot help but try. Your legs, trembling and heavy, barely carry you. They collapse beneath you, and you fall, but your body refuses to land completely. Your arms instinctively reach out to support you, although the pain that crosses your wrists makes you scream inwardly.

The walls of this place, invisible but omnipresent, repress you, pushing you closer to nothingness with every step. The ground beneath your feet rumbles, as if it were a living entity itself, a creature of iron and stone that threatens you. Every movement on the ground brings forth a sharp creak, a broken alert, a promise of imminent destruction. You want to stop, but your body, in a last instinct for survival, pushes you forward. Pure, animal terror motivates you, but it does not allow you to flee. It is an invisible, twisted force that keeps you here, forcing you forward with no escape.

You feel a growing pressure, as if the ground itself were becoming heavier under your weight. Your joints crack under the tension, your muscles tense to the limit, but the inertia of terror makes you remain frozen, like prey under the gaze of a predator. The silence around you is oppressive, heavy with this indefinable anguish. Nothing dares to break this silence, except your irregular, panting breath, each breath seeming to be a fight in itself. There is no sound of nature, no wind, no sound of water, only the creaking of the ground under your feet and the jerky sound of your breathing.

Slowly, the door behind you, invisible but omnipresent, closes with a metallic screech. A heart-rending crash, a screech of rusted metal. The sound echoes through the heavy air like a bell of judgment, an irrevocable condemnation. You jump, your heart skipping a beat, a cold shiver of fear running down your spine. Your throat tightens as panic overwhelms you, invading every fiber of your being. A dull ache strikes your skull, each beat of your heart seems more painful, more furious. The air seems to grow colder, denser, almost icy.

You want to scream, but your throat is too tight, the walls of your windpipe on fire, your vocal cords choked with pain that refuses to release. There is no room for the scream. There is just this terrifying silence, this emptiness. All around you, the pain is palpable, a constant pressure that crushes you relentlessly. And there, in the middle of this suffocating darkness, you see them.

They are there, motionless in the shadows, menacing silhouettes that seem to be outlined in the flickering light of an invisible fire. Their eyes shine in this darkness, fixed on you like merciless predators. Their presence is a weight, a heaviness that pushes you to crush yourself even more under this invisible burden. The stench of sulfur, of burnt metal, of rusted scrap metal floats in the air, invasive, suffocating. Each inhalation is a struggle, each breath a poison. The metallic taste of fear, of danger, invades your mouth, burning you inside. You want to back away, but your legs no longer carry you, as if your whole being was already on the verge of giving way under the pressure, under the terror. Their gaze, merciless, icy, penetrates you, pierces you. You feel them on your skin, each glance a burn. You know it is too late. That it is all over.

The voice rises then, cold, devoid of all humanity. It cuts the air like a cleaver. It pronounces your name, but it is not you that it calls. "Y/n, of House Astraviel, we are waiting for you." It is a whisper from the shadows, a malevolent breath that makes the air vibrate around you. This voice has nothing human. It is only a snake, a venom that slithers into your head, slipping, crawling, devouring. The cold that surrounds you becomes more intense. The air itself seems to shudder under the voice, as if the whole world were rebelling against you.

You want to answer, but you can't. The weight of fear petrifies you. Your throat is a prison, a trap that leaves you speechless. You don't even have the strength to open your eyes fully, to look any longer at this silhouette silhouetted against the shadows. You don't have the strength to do anything. Helplessness is all you feel. And that sentence, those words, echo in your head like a death knell, a promise of infinite pain. "We're waiting for you." They're there, and you're there, on the edge of the abyss, too weak, too broken to run away.

The silence in the courtyard is oppressive, almost palpable. It is heavy, thick, like a lead weight that weighs on your shoulders, on your lungs. Each breath is a struggle, each movement an ordeal. You have the impression that the air itself is too heavy, that each breath is flaying you from the inside. The silence becomes a prison, a space that oppresses you, presses you, squeezes you until you suffocate. Each sound seems foreign, distorted by the intensity of the moment. Even the chains that resonate, their metallic quivering, seem to come from another world, from another time. It is as if the noise were too small for this universal suffering that invades them. The chains are a distant echo, a threat that never ceases to grow, reverberating in your bones, in your mind, like a promise of infinite pain. And yet, here, the pain knows no limits. It is tangible, raw, an endless reality.

You turn your head slowly, and your eyes land on Sunghoon. What he has become hits you like a blow to the gut: he is nothing more than a shadow, a tragic relic of the majesty he once embodied. The chains that encircle him seem almost alive, deep black snakes that wrap around him, squeezing his skin with relentless cruelty. These chains do not just bind him, they sink into his flesh, fusing with it, like a curse that has become one with his body. With every tiny movement he attempts, the metal bites deeper, tearing his skin, leaving gaping wounds that will never heal. Open gashes, red and bloody, run across his arms, shoulders, torso—indelible marks of pain beyond imagining.

Blood trickles slowly from his wrists, dark and thick, drawing sinister lines down his arms before dripping to the ground. It falls silently, drop by drop, each burst of sound amplifying the horror of the scene. A crimson pool spreads at his feet, its depth seeming to reflect the depth of his pain. The chains, meanwhile, vibrate slightly, as if they feed off him, as if every ounce of his energy, every fragment of his mind, belongs to them. They glow faintly, a dark and cruel glow, amplifying the contrast between their perverse beauty and the torture they inflict.

You can’t help but notice his wings. Those wings, once bright and majestic, are now folded, broken, crushed against his back by the weight of the metal that imprisons them. The feathers, once so white they seemed to catch the light itself, are now blackened, crumpled, some torn, others hanging, as if they have given up all will to resist. They shudder slightly, but it is not a movement of life; it is a spasm of pain, an uncontrolled reaction to the suffering that consumes them.

Sunghoon stands still, almost frozen in a pose of silent defiance. But it’s just a facade, and you know it. His features, as rigid as they are, betray the agony that eats away at him. His lips, pressed together until they turn white, tremble slightly, and his gaze, though filling the space with a cold intensity, cannot mask the darkness swirling within. His eyes pierce you, not with arrogance or superiority as before, but with a mixture of distress and desperate dignity.

Beside him, Jay offers a brutal and equally heartbreaking contrast. Curled up on himself, his body seems to want to instinctively protect itself from the pain that assailed him. His arms are pulled back, fixed against a pillar of black stone by chains thinner than Sunghoon's, but infinitely crueler. Their surface is bristling with sharp points, each link biting into his flesh with surgical precision. With each flinch, each attempt to adjust his position, the chains tighten like living traps, digging in a little deeper, until they split the muscles and expose the flesh.

The skin on his wrists is a chaos of cuts and tears, blood leaking from them in endless streams. The wounds are fresh, open, and yet they already seem to be festering, as if the metal itself were impregnated with an insidious poison. The red liquid flows in a stream that, though slow, shows no sign of stopping. It stains the black stone, creating a scene where suffering takes on a physical, almost palpable form.

Jay moans, a hoarse sound, barely audible, but it cuts through the air like a blade. It’s a restrained cry, stifled by exhaustion and pain. His jaw is clenched, his teeth grinding with the effort of containing a scream he doesn’t want to let out. And yet, even in this state, he still fights. His eyes, heavy with pain, meet yours, and what you see there breaks you further. They are filled with unfathomable distress, but also with a spark, fragile but tenacious, of determination.

His body is on the verge of collapse. His muscles tremble under the pressure, and his breath is ragged and uneven, each breath seeming to tear a piece of his soul away. Yet, despite everything, he refuses to give in completely. He fights against the inevitable, against the pain, against this relentless force that seeks to break him. But you see the truth in his jerky movements, in the way his torso rises laboriously: he is already broken, just like Sunghoon, just like everyone else caught in this cruel trap.

The atmosphere around you is heavy, suffocating. The air itself seems saturated with despair and pain, every breath an almost insurmountable effort. You feel helpless, crushed by the scene before you, unable to look away despite the horror that overwhelms you. It is a sight you will never be able to forget, a vision that burns into your memory. And deep inside, a nagging question gnaws at you: How much longer before they give in, before they are completely consumed by this infinite pain? How much longer before you, too, are broken?

And then Jake catches your eye, and in that moment, the unbearable magnitude of his pain overwhelms you. He’s crouched, his back hunched, almost folded in on himself, in a position reminiscent of a wounded predator, cornered and deprived of any escape. His arms are drawn up around his torso, his fingers clenched to the point of whitening his knuckles, as if he’s trying to contain a pain too immense to be expressed. His muscles are tense to the limit, every fiber of his being seeming on the verge of giving way, like a rope ready to snap under the strain. He remains silent, but it’s a silence that screams, a silence that weighs, that oppresses.

His face is bathed in sweat, each drop tracing furrows along his cheeks hollowed by anguish. His half-closed eyelids barely hide the flickering light in his eyes. That look… It is marked by a pain so deep that it seems to have consumed everything he was. His pupils, dilated, stare into space as if he were trying to mentally escape this hell, but reality catches up with him with every breath, with every shudder of his bruised body.

The crystal chains around her glow with a deceptively soft, almost ethereal light, but their beauty masks an unrelenting cruelty. These chains are not mere physical bonds: they seem alive, vibrant, pulsing in time with her pain. Each burst of light that emanates from them penetrates her flesh and mind, inflicting pain both bodily and psychological. With every movement, however small, they tighten further, their glow intensifying as if feeding on her despair. The crystalline metal bites into her wrists and ankles, leaving clean, deep gashes, from which dark blood slowly flows, almost black in the flickering light.

His hands, so strong, tremble slightly. The skin on his fingers is torn, raw, and each drop of blood that falls on the floor resounds like a death knell, amplifying the suffocating atmosphere of the room. You feel that he is struggling, that he is still resisting despite everything, but this resistance is silent, almost invisible. Jake does not moan, does not scream. He has passed this stage, crossed a limit where pain has become an omnipresent companion, a weight that crushes his mind as much as his body. His jaw is clenched to the point of breaking, his teeth clenched to contain a cry that will never come.

And yet, this silence is not a sign of strength. It is a forced capitulation, a resignation to the inevitable. He no longer fights against the chains; he fights to maintain a semblance of dignity in a situation that has ripped everything from him. His shoulders sag little by little, as if the invisible weight of this torture were added to that of the chains. It is an unbearable spectacle, a suffering that goes beyond words, that hits you like a blow. You want to look away, but you can't. You are frozen, caught in the horror of this scene.

Finally, your eyes slide to Heeseung, and the impact is even more brutal. He stands there, straight as a statue frozen in a mixture of pain and resilience. But it is not a noble force that emanates from him. It is a forced immobility, imposed by the massive chains that encircle every part of his body. These chains, deep black, almost seem to absorb the light around him, creating an oppressive aura that crushes all hope. They wrap around his arms, his torso, his legs, like voracious snakes, penetrating his flesh in several places. Where the metal comes into contact with his skin, black burns appear, marks of pain forever etched on his body.

The symbols that were once the source of his power glow faintly on his skin, like embers that have nearly died out. They are the remains of a past glory, reduced to a dying glow, unable to push back the darkness that surrounds him. His face is a mask of suppressed pain. Every feature is tense, frozen, as if he is forbidding himself to let any weakness show. But you see the shadows in his eyes, the darkness that betrays the state of his soul. He is broken, drained, reduced to a shell of what he once was.

His breath is irregular, short, almost imperceptible. Each breath seems to cost him a monumental effort, as if the air itself were a blade tearing at his lungs. His lips, pressed into a thin line, are pale, devoid of all color. And yet, even in this state, he remains still, refusing to give in to the chaos that reigns within him. But this stillness comes at a price. His muscles, tense to the limit, tremble under the pressure, and you know he is on the verge of collapse.

Around you, the space closes in. The walls seem to come closer, the air becomes denser, more stifling, leaving you barely enough to breathe. Each second stretches into an unbearable eternity. Here, only pain speaks. It swallows everything, consumes everything. It takes you, breaks you, tears you apart. Fear, insidious, grows in turn. It throbs in each heartbeat, infiltrates each panting breath. It is a voracious fear, fueled by pain, a fear of the inevitable, of this endless suffering. And all you can do is wait. But waiting is already suffering. To wait is to abandon oneself to anguish. And the suffering, relentless, continues to grow.

You don't have time to comprehend what's happening. The next moment, the brutality of the head of the House of Ignis hits you. He grabs your hand in an unrelenting grip, his fingers like clamps digging into your skin with such violence that you feel almost every bone break under the pressure. A dull cry of pain escapes your throat, but it is muffled by the brutality of his grip. The heat of his hand burns your skin, but the pain goes beyond the physical, running through you like an electric shock. You try to free yourself, to struggle, but each movement amplifies the pain in your hand, your wrist, and your entire arm. The violence of the grip is such that you feel the tendons in your arm tense, ready to give way under the pressure.

You don't even have time to breathe. The air seems to be getting thinner, as if your body can no longer take in oxygen. He pulls you roughly, forcing you to move too fast, too brutally, and your feet slip on the rough ground. Your body twists under the effect of his pull. A dull pain runs through you as you hit the hard wall, the sharp angle of the wall cutting your rib. You want to scream, but the pain in your hand, in your ribs, in your head, paralyzes you. You are nothing but pain, a continuous, unbearable suffering, of such intensity that you feel like you are no longer anything but a part of the suffering itself.

“I am generous today. Tell me, who do you want me to kill first?” The voice of the head of the House of Ignis is serious, filled with a palpable threat. His words hit like hammer blows, echoing in your ears like a condemnation. Each syllable is a tear, an additional pain that you feel in your belly. The world around you becomes blurry, as if your senses are blurred, drowned in terror. You do not even have the strength to respond. Your entire being screams silently for it to stop, but nothing moves. You shake your head frantically, your gaze pleading, desperate to avoid this decision he awaits. But he does not care. He sees your fear as a weakness to exploit.

“Please… not this…” you whisper, your voice breaking in your throat. Each word a desperate plea, a begging that dies before it even reaches his ears. Tears pool in your eyes, but you can’t even let them fall. Fear grips your chest, making it hard to breathe properly. You bite your bottom lip so hard you can taste the metallic taste of blood, but it doesn’t stop the wave of terror that engulfs every fiber of your being. Your heart pounds so hard in your chest it feels like it’s going to explode. The pain in your hand, the pain in your body, the pain in your soul is unbearable.

He laughs, a cruel, guttural sound that seems to dig its way into your bones. “You don’t want to choose? Fine, I’ll choose for you.” His words are spoken like a sentence. He nods at Sunghoon, an almost innocuous gesture, but the gesture changes everything. It’s as if the ground is giving way beneath your feet, as if the air is tearing apart around you. He doesn’t just want to make you suffer, he wants to break you, push you to the limit, make you pay for your indecision. You see Sunghoon there, in front of you, the chains holding him gleaming with a metallic sheen in the harsh light. He’s captive, just like you. And he too is suffering, he too is in pain. But you know that it’s you he wants to make suffer. It’s you he wants to destroy.

The leader's subordinates approach. You hear the sound of chains dragging on the ground, the clatter of footsteps on the hard floor, and it chills you. Their presence seems to crush the air around you, and you feel every fiber of your body tense, ready to explode under the strain. Terror pierces you, burning, like a fire in your belly. An uncontrollable shiver runs through you, and you can't help but scream, to plead again.

“No… no! I’m sorry, I’ll choose!” you scream, your voice strangled, torn by fear. Tears roll down your cheeks, hot and heavy, but they don’t relieve anything. They only add to the pain of the moment, like a confirmation of your weakness, your helplessness. You’re shaking so much that your knees buckle, threatening to make you fall. But he pushes you even harder, a blow that makes you stagger. You feel weak, faint, like an animal caught in a trap from which it can’t escape. You lack air, the pain lacerates you, and you feel lost, caught in an endless spiral.

He shoves you violently in front of Sunghoon. The impact almost makes you lose your balance, but you collapse to your knees on the hard ground, the palms of your hands hitting the ground with a thud. The contact with the ground hurts, but it’s the pain in your soul that is the most unbearable. Sunghoon looks at you, his eyes filled with a consuming anger. He’s there, but he’s far away, out of your reach, just as you’re out of his reach. His wrists are bound with an inordinate force, the chains that hold them bloody, and you see the blood slowly trickle down, beading on his wrists, but he doesn’t give in. He grits his teeth, he fights against his chains with a determination that tears him apart.

Desperate, you scream again, your voice cracking, torn by terror. “I said I would choose! And I choose myself!” The words come out with new strength, a conviction born of pain, born of the fear that devours your insides. It’s a final act of resistance, a heartbreaking cry to take back some power over your own destiny. But deep down, you know it’s a lie. You’re not choosing anything. You’re simply surviving.

In a burst of frantic courage, you lean forward and bite into his hand with all the force of your terror. The metallic taste of blood fills your mouth, a harsh, acidic taste, and you feel the flesh of his hand give way under your teeth. He groans in pain, a sound that tears a shiver of morbid satisfaction from you. But no sooner does that shiver touch you than the pain returns, infinite. In a movement of pure rage, he slaps you. The shock is so violent that you lose your balance and fall to the ground. The pain explodes in your head, a blast of heat and dizziness. Your head hits the ground hard, and the impact is so brutal that you see stars. Your vision blurs, a throbbing pain erupts in the back of your skull, a pain that makes you scream internally, but your mouth is too dry to let out a sound.

Blood begins to trickle from your temple, warm and thick, slowly sliding down your cheek. You feel the warmth of your own blood, but there’s nothing comforting about it. It’s just a reminder that you’re still here, still alive, still hurting.

Sunghoon is a broken man, but he has no intention of surrendering. His chains, thick and blackish metal, bite into his skin, his flesh tearing under the pressure of the bonds. He pulls with all his might, his entire body tense in a desperate struggle. The metal straps tear at his skin, leaving deep trails of blood that trickle down his muscular arms. The iron bites into the flesh, each movement rekindling a throbbing pain that he ignores, focusing only on one goal: to save you. The pain seems to crush him, but he pushes it back deep inside his being, each internal cry drowning under the rage that boils inside him. He is helpless, a caged beast. His mind drowns in frustration, his gaze fixed on you, on your body that is at the mercy of this man.

The leader, on the other hand, seems to be savoring every moment of this scene, as if his cruelty were an art he’s mastered to perfection. He lets out a cold laugh that tears through the air, a laugh that, with each echo, makes your soul ache a little more. “Fucking little bitch,” he sneers, a sly grin forming on his lips, as if he’s made a decision and nothing is going to make him change his mind. “I understand better why they all care about you so much.” He approaches you, his gait slow and calculated, savoring every moment of control he exerts over this situation.

Each step echoes heavily in the room, a sound that sends shivers down your spine, reminding you of how trapped you are here. His bloody hand rubs against his pants, glistening with macabre violence before sliding into your hair. He grabs them roughly, forcing your head up, your roots tugging violently, tearing at your scalp. The pain is immediate, sharp, a clean tear through your nerves. But that physical pain is nothing compared to what pierces you with every movement he makes.

The chief's fingers wrap around your locks with such force that you feel like he's going to rip them out. He slowly tilts your head back, forcing you to look him in the eye. Each strand that comes loose from your scalp burns, a sharp pain that makes every muscle in your body tense. You want to scream, but a painful knot tightens your throat, preventing you from making a sound.

The ground beneath you is hard, cold as stone, an icy abyss that devours you with every passing second. It's not just the cold of the ground, but a cold inside, as if the earth itself is rejecting your existence, as if everything is ganging up on you. Shame mixes with pain, engulfing you in a whirlwind of suffering. Every fiber of your being screams at you to get up, to run, but your legs are paralyzed with terror, your body rooted here, trapped in this situation. Suffering is a surging wave, it overwhelms you, crushing you under its weight, but there is this visceral fear of collapsing, of breaking you even more.

You bite your bottom lip until the taste of blood fills your mouth, trying desperately to hold back your cries, to not give in to the pain. You know that if you let out a single cry, it will be even worse, you will give this man exactly what he wants.

“Look at her, your little female dog,” he continues, his voice a cruel hiss, like a snake toying with its prey. “She wants to sacrifice herself for the four of you.” He lets out a short laugh, then leans closer to you, like a predator feasting on its prey. “I guess it will do a lot more harm than killing you now.”

Each word is a stab in your soul, an invisible wound that leaves an indelible mark, a sweet poison that slowly spreads through your veins. It is more than a threat, it is a judgment, a cruel verdict. He speaks of your sacrifice as a mere diversion, a method to inflict more pain, more suffering. All you see in his eyes is a pure desire for destruction, to control your pain, to make it last.

Sunghoon looks at you, his eyes filled with fury, his jaw clenched like pincers. But more than anger, it is an unbearable pain that pierces his gaze. You see his consuming rage, but you also see the agony, the distress of knowing he is stuck there, without being able to intervene. Each jolt against his chains is an additional tear, each movement, an act of desperation. His wrists bleed because of the chains, but he ignores all of that.

“I will find you, and I will kill you,” Sunghoon growls, his voice cracked with hatred and the promise of merciless vengeance. The sound of his voice is that of a man willing to do anything to get back what he holds dear. He grits his teeth so hard he could break his jaw, but it is his pain that you feel through him. He screams in frustration, each word escaping his lips like a contained explosion. He pulls and pulls at the chains, the metal squeaking with the effort, his wrists split open in large wounds that bleed onto the floor. But for all his strength, for all his rage that could reduce this place to ashes, he remains trapped in these chains.

The leader shrugs, a mocking pout on his lips. “The dead don’t think about revenge,” he says, his tone detached, almost boring. His words resonate, cold, cruel. He leans even closer to you, his hot breath brushing your skin, his lips sliding over your temple, licking the blood that beads. The contact is icy, like a poisonous caress. Nausea rises in you, and the urge to push this monster away burns within you, but your body no longer responds. He raises his head, a burst of psychotic laughter in his eyes. He straightens, scanning the others behind him, as if waiting for their approval.

“Don’t touch her, you bastard!” Jake yells, his voice vibrating with pure rage, broken by helplessness. He pulls violently at his crystal chains, but they don’t give. The metal resonates in the room with a shrill sound, a metallic cry of pain that mixes with human suffering. The chains bite into his skin, but he doesn’t seem to care. The muscles in his body tremble under the force he exerts. Every fiber of his being is tense to the limit, like a spring ready to burst. The walls shake under the impact, threatening to crack, as if all the space around you will collapse under the pressure of his rage. But despite all this violence, he can do nothing. He is helpless, and the pain of his own helplessness touches you as deeply as his own rage.

“Look at yourselves. The four of you are so miserable because of your affection for her. It’s one of the reasons why crime of the heart is forbidden.” The leader speaks slowly, each word slipping from his lips coldly, calculated and relentless. He clenches his fists, every muscle in his arm tensing under the pressure, then abruptly unclenches them, fingers trembling with an energy he can barely control. His lips are pressed into a straight line, an expression of absolute coldness marked by the hardness of his convictions. He continues, without an ounce of compassion, “That is why I will cleanse your souls and bodies of this abominable sin, so that you may once again become the perfect beings you once were.”

His words hit like a whip, the steel of his voice ringing through the air, tearing through the silence with icy authority. The weight of his words seems to suspend the air around him, saturated with menace, with a palpable presence. The silence that follows is heavy, oppressive, almost suffocating.

“Don’t make fun of us!” Jay bursts out, his voice cracked with rage but vibrant with defiance. Anger explodes in his throat, bubbling like lava ready to pour out its violence. “The love I have for Y/n is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever felt! Before her, everything was pain and despair… But thanks to her, I was able to hold on, to cling to this miserable existence! So don’t you dare say it’s a crime!”

Jay's words tremble, fury mixed with a deep, heartbreaking vulnerability. He searches your gaze, a silent plea perhaps, as if he were searching for meaning, for truth, in your eyes. He drowns in your gaze. His eyes fill with tears, a raw, devastating, uncontrollable emotion. His pain hits hard, a nameless pain, but you also see the fragility that comes from it. His heart bleeds, and you feel that pain invade you too, devouring you from the inside. Your eyes fill in turn, but they are not tears of fear. No. They are tears of love and sadness, a devouring, heavy sadness that crushes you. Your heart clenches, crushed by the intensity of the moment. You offer him a weak smile, a desperate attempt to comfort the one who looks at you as if he would collapse under the weight of everything he carries.

But the leader doesn't react. He sneers, a dry, contemptuous, almost reptilian sound, before advancing slowly, his steps echoing in the room like a sentence. He drops his words with an implacable harshness, like stones he throws into a bottomless pit. "Everything you just said is an illusion, Jay. A perfect facade, but only a facade. It's not love. Love is a painful betrayal. It's a twisted emotion that breaks and destroys. What you feel, what you call love, is only a mirage, a decoy that your senses have created to lie to you."

He turns to you then, his gaze sliding over your body, slumped on the cold ground, broken and scarred by pain. Your body feels like an empty shell, skin bruised, and you know that everything is going to get worse, that the pain is going to intensify. He approaches slowly, a cruel smile stretching his lips, almost sadistic. He holds out his hand, a black and purple flame dancing in his palm, crackling with an unhealthy energy. The air around him seems to warm, as if reality itself is bending under the pressure of this power. The stifling heat begins to make itself felt, as your breath catches in your throat.

“Don’t do this…” you whisper weakly, terror strangling your voice. But his eyes shine with a senseless cruelty, devoid of pity, and he brings his hand to your thigh, a slow, inevitable gesture.

The contact is immediate and devastating. As soon as his hand brushes your skin, a searing pain washes over you, as if your entire body is being torn apart by an invisible force. A wild fire devours your muscles, your nerves, your flesh, each filament of the black flame etching a web of pain across your skin. You throw yourself back, trying to escape, but it is too late. The pain spreads like poison, invading every fiber of your being.

A primal scream tears through the air, a scream that is born in the depths of your soul, a scream of pure pain. The flames bite into your skin, burning it, eating away at it like hot iron, sinking into every pore of your body. You feel yourself losing your footing, sinking into an endless abyss of pain, of unconsciousness. Your muscles contract under the heat, unable to fight. Every movement, every breath worsens the burn, every breath becomes a torture, an endless agony.

The smell of burning flesh, of pain incarnate, rises in the air. It is suffocating, stifling, almost implacable. It is your smell, your body slowly burning, and there is nothing you can do about it. The contours of your being become blurred, unreal, engulfed in heat and pain. Your nerves, broken, no longer respond. You are nothing more than a soul in the grip of suffering, lost in an endless whirlwind.

The flame, sweet and cruel, seems to feed on your pain, amplifying it even more. It spreads, infiltrating every corner of your body, slowly engulfing you in an implacable fire. The skin on your thigh shrinks, blackens, deforms under the heat, transformed into an unrecognizable mass. But the pain does not weaken. It continues, inextinguishable, devouring. You want to scream, to howl at the injustice, but your voice is lost in the whirlwind of suffering.

If only you could die… If only this pain could stop. But there is no escape. It gives you no respite. The leader, smiling, observes your suffering with an unhealthy pleasure in his eyes. The flame grows even bigger, spreads, invading every part of your body, every area of your being. The pain becomes so sharp, so deep, that it erases everything around you, until you are nothing more than pain, infinite suffering. Everything mixes together, everything collapses.

You finally collapse, your body inert, unable to react. The world dissolves into a sea of suffering. The heat, the smell of burning flesh, the pain all around you, everything merges. The silence weighs heavily, heavy as a coffin. Only your short, panting, piercing breaths break the silence. A flickering flame that fights against the inevitable.

“No! No… no!” Heeseung’s scream breaks through the air, a hoarse, piercing howl that vibrates with pure terror, echoing in your ears, amplified by the roar of the fire. His eyes, filled with tears, are fixed on the leader of the House of Ignis, his pain and helplessness piercing the atmosphere. The flames, like raging snakes, twist and writhe in the leader’s palms, screaming and crackling as they unfold with blinding speed. There is no respite. No escape.

The leader leans in slowly, each movement calculated and methodically precise. His hand brushes the already black and charred skin of your thigh, and a shiver of disgust runs through you, intensified by the unbearable sensation that follows. The skin, hard and cracked, seems ready to shatter into fragments under a simple pressure, while the pain tears your body from the inside. When he removes his hand, it is glacially slow, but instead of relief, a new wave of pain invades you. The skin, left behind, is devoured by the fire, the inside of your flesh continues to burn, the muscles contracting under the relentless effect of the heat. The pain is so sharp that it takes your breath away, transforming into a suffocating sensation, an unbearable heat that devours you from the inside, engulfing every part of your being. His cold hands come to rest on your skull. The temperature difference sends chills down your spine before the heat slowly seeps in, invading every fiber of your body.

A crackling noise is heard, too calm in the face of the horror that unfolds. You feel your hair heating up, turning to ashes under the flames. The skull, so solid, gradually gives way under this extreme pressure. The scalp tenses, retracts like a drum skin, before slowly burning. The fire penetrates from the inside, attacking each root, each follicle. The first hairs burn instantly, falling in a shower of black ashes. But that is nothing compared to what follows. The soft skin of your skull turns into a mass of charred flesh, stuck to the bone. You can no longer move. You want to scream, but your voice is swallowed by the pain, a suffocation that paralyzes you. It is as if your skin, your flesh, and your soul were swallowed by hell.

Your skull is on fire. Your brain seems to be boiling. It's as if flaming needles are being driven into every cell, every nerve fiber. Every thought becomes an unbearable burn. You feel your mind melting, diluting in this heat, slowly escaping in an endless whirlwind. The pain is total, unstoppable. Every millimeter of your head is slowly decomposing. But you can't do anything about it. The fire is too powerful, too relentless. There is no respite.

The heat spreads, spreading through your neck, your shoulders, your back. The flames slip into the cracks opened by their passage, penetrating deep, reaching your bones. Your muscles tense under the burn, forcing you to withdraw into yourself. But your body, already burned, no longer responds. Each movement becomes an act of pure suffering. The heat is so intense that the air itself becomes torture. You feel like you are suffocating, the ashes and the heat burn your throat. Your lungs, too, seem to be on fire. Each breath is a titanic effort.

The flames spread, growing, spreading like poison throughout your body. Your muscles contract under the burn, your heart beats violently in your chest, as if to remind you that you are not yet dead, that the end has not yet arrived. But deep down, you know that it is only a mirage. One last spasm before the inevitable.

The flames engulf everything, your arms, your stomach, your torso. The pain becomes denser and denser, more inhuman. The skin tears, the flesh melts and turns into a black and bloody mush. The bones, too, begin to give way under the extreme heat. Every movement, however small, tears a silent scream from you. The space around you shrinks, saturated by the sound of the flames, the incessant crackling of the fire, as if the whole world were nothing but pain and heat.

You are no longer aware of your body, nor of your mind. The pain has taken over, devouring every thought, every memory. There is nothing left. Just a silent scream, a silhouette, a specter of what you were. The flames continue to destroy you, consuming you from the inside. All you feel is this emptiness that settles in, an absence that grows greater and greater, as the end approaches. Relentless. Inexorable.

Eventually the heat dies down. The flames recede, but the pain remains. They leave only the echo of a lingering pain. Even after they are gone, you remain there, in a heavy silence. An emptiness infinitely heavier than the pain itself. There is no more physical pain, but there is also no more you. No more body. No more existence. Just ashes, a vestige of what you were, an imprint of life erased in the suffering of a moment.

After your death, silence had fallen like a leaden blanket, stifling anything that might have resembled a cry. They remained there, frozen, their empty gazes fixed on your ashes that swirled in the air. These ashes, light, almost unreal, mixed with the wind, slowly dissipating as if your existence itself had been only an ephemeral breath. None of them could breathe normally. The weight of the irrevocable crushed them, their chests barely rose under the desperate effort to find air, but each breath seemed insufficient, painful, as if the whole world had closed around them.

Anger mixed with pain, an unbearable mixture that they could only express through their faces distorted by horror. No screams passed their lips; it was a deafening silence, even more terrifying than the roar of the flames that had taken over their entire being. They tried to understand, but nothing made sense. The void left by your absence lacerated them, an invisible blade that cut relentlessly, digging again and again into their hearts until there was nothing left but a gaping chasm.

With each passing second, the atmosphere grew heavier. The pain didn't just burn, it consumed them, it invaded them, even in the deepest recesses of their being. It wasn't just the physical flames that licked their skin and charred their flesh, but an inner, relentless fire that reduced their will to ashes. Their bodies screamed in agony, but their souls were already collapsing under the weight of despair.

Before them, the head of House Ignis watched with icy satisfaction. He stood tall, his imposing figure silhouetted against the flickering light of the flames, a victorious smile stretching his lips. To him, every stifled cry, every breath torn away by pain, was proof of justice. He regarded their end as a triumph, convinced that he was restoring a form of purity to the world by purifying the souls corrupted by their sins.

But his victory was not absolute. He knew that this was only a step, that a cycle had yet to repeat itself. These souls, deemed too impure to be freed, would return. They would be reborn, inevitably, drawn from the ashes of their bodies like cursed phoenixes. But this rebirth was not a gift, nor an immediate redemption. It was a curse, a torture intended to shatter every fragment of humanity still clinging to their essence.

The real punishment was not their death in those flames, but what would come afterward. They would be brought back to life, stripped of all memory, condemned to relive a carefully orchestrated tragedy over and over again. And this time, their ultimate test would be love, the insidious corruption that had led to their downfall. Each time, they would fall hopelessly in love, drawn inexorably to you, who would mean everything to them. And each time, they would be forced, by circumstances they could never control, to take your life into their own hands.

They wouldn't understand why their souls would bleed every moment. They wouldn't remember the previous cycles, but the pain would remain embedded in them, an invisible scar etched into their essence. They would fight against their own instincts, against their own hearts, until there was nothing left but total submission to the order imposed by the Houses.

The leader knew that this suffering was necessary. In his eyes, there was no redemption without pain, no purity without the total destruction of the individual. These souls had to be broken; every fragment of love, every trace of attachment or desire had to be reduced to rubble. Only after they had passed through the flames of their own torment could they become the perfect, devoted beings they were meant to be: unfailing servants, free from all human weakness.

And as he watched their bodies crumble beneath the onslaught of flames, he saw not deaths, but imminent rebirths. To him, it was a cycle, a promise that sinners would find the way, even if it were paved with their own suffering.

©️devotedlypinkpeanut, do not copy, translate or repost any of my works. Thanks for taking the time to read!

Taglist : @strxwbloody @wilonevys

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cuppykin · 5 days ago

Text

A Spoonful of Sugar- Pilot

So, It's finally here. I wanted to write a story to keep me occupied, something super self indulgent and fun for me to write and worldbuild for.

If you like reverse harems, magic, magical BAKING, and older men love interests, I hope you have fun with this story. Four men, heavy in debt at the end of their ropes get hired by an odd and eccentric young woman who makes potions in the form of sweets and candy! Odd, and unconventional, but this young woman proves herself to be plenty of help, and a beacon of sunshine for men who are at the end of their rope, the lowest they've ever been

Think of this as a proof of concept, and I want to continue this IF there's interest for the story to continue, because this is something I'm so glad to have finished. I really, truly hope you enjoy.

Word Count: 30k

“What the FUCK was that!”

Heavy, worn hands slammed down onto the wooden table, yellowed teeth gritting down hard enough to hear them clank together. Captain Goliath Bernwald was angry. Extremely angry. All the rest of his party had to sit there, taking his berating until they felt it was gonna be their time to talk.

“This job was the last job we could’ve taken to pay off a chunk of our debt, and yet every last one of you FUCKED IT UP so badly I’m worried if we’re even gonna get paid at all!” Oh there we go. That was what set Pierce off. He shot up from his seat, glaring at Goliath with a very tight, bottled up rage ready to set off with the tiniest crack.

“And you’re saying you had no part in our fuck up?” He growled. “You were HUNGOVER, what use is a frontline warrior who can’t even walk into the light without getting so much as a migraine!”

“That wouldn’t have been a problem if you properly stocked up with Restoration potions, Pierce,” Sage lazily messed with a marble on the table, flicking it across right up to Beaumont, who caught it before it could fall to the floor.

“I’m sure we’re just punching over our weight with that one because we’re desperate for money,” Beaumont shrugged. “Clearing out a mansion of poltergeists? None of us are even trained in holy magic.”

“If we had FOUND the item the ghosts were tethered to and destroyed it they would’ve been FREED but we DIDN’T!” Goliath snapped. “You’re all trying to blame anybody but yourselves! Do you know just how many chances we’ve been given? This was our last chance and now that Manticore bastard’s gonna have us all strung up by our ankles bleeding into a cauldron!”

“He hasn’t come here yet, if we hurry up and find a new job, we can recover the costs, and if we show him some gold he’ll extend the day, anything to keep interests up so he can bleed more money from us,” Sage yawned. “Let’s find something less daunting for any amount of gold, and then when we complete our task, give Don Henbane the gold, and hope he keeps us as his little cash cow.”

“As much as I don’t want to agree with your idea…” Goliath pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’re all desperate. Fine. Let’s go to the town hall, then the tavern.”

“How about Beaumont and I go to the tavern for work. Sage and Goliath, you two hit the town hall,” Pierce offered, glaring daggers at Goliath. He clenched his fists. He wanted to reach over and break Pierce’s nose in so many places he’d be a permanent mouth breather. But he took a deep breath, and to avoid spitting further poison, just nodded.

“Alright. We have a plan, let’s just rest for now. We had to use the remainder of our money on the cheapest most watered down healing potions we could and I’m feeling the aching returning,” Sage stood up from his seat.

“You sure that’s not the arthritis, old man?” Beaumont joked with a cheeky smirk, which he was soon rewarded with by Sage snapping his fingers and sending an uncomfortable spark through the large redhead’s body.

“Maybe you should study magic too. It really does a body good and makes the aging slower, kiddo,” Sage sneered. “Twice your age and I feel no older than 30.” Beaumont huffed, flipping Sage off and stomping out of the basement. Pierce followed behind, glaring at Goliath and taking the time to slam the rickety old door. Sage shook his head and clicked his teeth.

“If I wasn’t in this mess I’d have had those two’s heads blown off,” Sage huffed.

“Then we’d have to shoulder their debts too,” Goliath said. “Only reason I can even stand being around you all is because one of us dying means we have to shoulder that share of the debt.”

“Fair point,” Sage said. “Why else would I willingly work with an overweight drunk, a spoiled brat who can’t access his daddy’s money, and a crybaby whose all edge but no point?” Sage huffed, picking up the bag of marbles on the table and leaving along with the rest of the group. Once the basement was silent, and he could hear the footsteps vanish into different parts of the house, Goliath sighed and crumpled over in the closest chair he could grab.

Sage was right about him. Goliath WAS an overweight drunk, but he could snap that pompous old twig in half at any given point…

There was a small satchel on his waist. When he opened it up, he pulled out a bottle he was keeping safe the entire time, last thing he could afford. A nice, shiny, bottle of mead, his favorite drink by far, even if the buzz wasn’t strong. Not like he needed to feel a buzz at this point…

He uncorked the small bottle and took a big, heart swig of it, practically emptying the entire thing in one gulp, before part of it went down the wrong pipe in one rush. He coughed, some of the liquid spilling out of his mouth and right onto his bare, hairy chest. God dammit….making a mess on himself like that. It would be funny if his entire situation wasn’t so utterly pathetic.

“What happened…?” He muttered to himself. He wasn’t always like this. He was someone great. Famous even. But now life caught up to him and he was out in an abandoned apothecary shop with three men he doesn’t even like. All to pay the debt of a predatory mafioso who treated this entire group like playthings.

At this point he thought he’d be a few years away from retiring, sitting in a cave somewhere with booze, meat, furs, and a pretty young thing cuddling up to him listening to his tales of heroism. That was the life he deserved. At least at one point he believed that. Maybe this really was just what he deserved after he got too cocky. With a heavy sigh, once he stood up again, the pain started back up, simmering down from his lower back before shooting up in a burst of flames around his neck. He grunted, sucking in a gasp and stumbling over to the chest he kept his bed roll in. Couldn’t even afford a good bed at this point…but it was time to actually sleep after a long, shitty day. So he blew out the candle that kept the room a bit dim, and let it all drown in darkness before laying down and closing his eyes.

“Going to bed yet old man?”

A very familiar voice shot him up out of his light slumber, followed by the sensation of something sharp pressing up against his jugular. He recognized the bright yellow eyes shining in the dark, dark skin and hair blending so seamlessly into the newly formed darkness.

“Jetta…hi,” he mumbled. “How’s the old man? Still kicking?”

“Oh he’s doing loooovely~!” She purred, sitting right on top of him, clawed hands pressed down on his rather sizable, hairy gut. Her tail started swishing side to side and her grin showed off devious playfulness, like this was a big fun game to her.

“Where’s the money, little man~?” She asked. “I really want a plate of Sashimi from this amazing eastern isle chef but unfortunately I can’t get it until father sees the money!”

“Your dad has more money than the king, he can afford that…” Goliath said through gritted teeth. “We failed this-“

“Oh I know you did, remember,” Jetta laid down on Goliath’s massive frame, running a finger through his chest hair. “I have eyes and ears all around this city. Little Scraggles told me about your disastrous failure in that mansion. What a shame…” Goliath growled under his breath. With a swift motion, he grabbed Jetta by the tail and yanked her off of him, rough enough to cause her to hiss in pain.

“Careful doing that little man!” She hissed, her ears pulled back and her teeth showing. “Wouldn’t want me to tell father his pathetic little debtor hurt his one and only heir, would you?” She crawled on all fours back up to him, hissing with a wild look in her eyes.

“What can he possibly do that’s worse than leaving me on this wild goose chase for money?” Goliath sighed.

“How about we ship you out to the mountains and have your skin turned into a nice leather tunic?”

“Then that means I’ll be dead. Which I consider a damn mercy.” At that, Jetta relaxed, her posture going back to normal as she sat back up, and couldn’t help but giggle into her hand.

“Oh god you’re so funny to mess with! Just for being silly, I’ll give you and your crew another week! But in the end, if father doesn’t see at least 150 gold for a job well done, it’s bye bye for everyone here!” Oh no. Oh no no no that wasn’t good at all. Goliath tensed up, eyes widened in the darkness.

“150 gold Jetta you’re kidding me! The installments were 25 gold a fortnight!”

“And you missed enough payments that you oughta be grateful I don’t charge you more!” She leaned into him, this time yanking on his chest hair enough that she was nearly pulling it out. Goliath glared down at her with a quiet fury, sure of himself that he could grab this mangy cat of a woman and throw her against the ground till she was a red smear. But if he did that, then his fate would be far worse than if he just didn’t pay Don Henbane any money.

“I was here to collect whatever you had now. But I gave you an extended day. I’d take whatever you all got but aside from the gear boss so lovingly let you borrow you all don’t have jack shit.” She gave Goliath a cheeky kiss on the cheek, before slinking up the basement stairs, smiling down at him one last time.

“Have a good rest, great hero~!”

—-

Goliath did not, in fact, have a good rest. He stayed up all night too fearful to sleep, and in too much pain to sleep. One week…150 gold…no job here would be offering that much unless it was a suicide mission, or a trip to the arenas, and arena season just closed. Goliath could get the most money then, but now he was shit out of luck. The worst part was going to tell everyone else about this, but he didn’t have much luck, because once the sun rose, he finally fell asleep…

Only to be woken up suddenly by the sound of Beaumont’s footsteps clamoring down the steps. How did he know they were Beaumont’s? It’s worth it to memorize the sounds of your own teammates.

“Hey Goliath, you up?” He asked. “I went with Pierce early to scout out a job, and we found something that might be worth it, c'mon lemme show you.”

“God…why the fuck are you waking me up this early…?” Goliath groaned.

“First off, it’s almost noon, and second off, here,” Beaumont handed Goliath a flyer that was posted up. The paper had an odd faint shade of pink, and the writing was surprisingly eloquent. It seemed like that of a noble who wanted to write the job themselves.

“Wanted: mercenaries as bodyguards to go to Bounty Valley for further details on payment visit the address down below…” He looked at where the address was, but it was covered up by a sticker. He peeled it off to reveal it was right on the outskirts of town, near some farming settlements.

“Won’t even give us the payment details, are you sure about taking this?” Goliath raised an eyebrow.

“C’mon, it’s well written, neat, a bit frilly, I’m sure whoever sent this out is probably really dang naive and could be harangued easily into giving us as much reward money as we can strong arm outta them. It could be worth a shot, trust me.” He wanted to say no….but after that conversation with Jetta last night, this could be worth something.

“…we need to talk first. Gather the rest of the group.”

—-

“So this is…”

“Bad? Yeah I know it is…”

“But from the way she talked to me, she wanted the money that day. So this might be a blessing in disguise.”

Pierce gripped his head and let out a groan of exhaust and defeat.

“150…” he groaned. “What jobs did we get? Anything we can do that only needs 1 or 2 people? Maybe then we can I dunno…stretch out the rewards…?”

“Beaumont found something-“

“I know he found something,” Pierce interrupted. “But this has no reward money, just a meetup place. This could be suspicious as hell.”

“But we don’t know unless we meet the person. Meeting someone isn’t concrete. We’ll talk to them, see if they’re convincing enough, and leave if they’re not,” Sage offered. “

“No, no, Beaumont dragged me back here but I’m going back to the town board to find something else,” Pierce stood up from his seat. “We might as well find a backup if this lead doesn’t work out.”

“I’m coming with you,” Goliath said. “I just woke up and I need to work my joints in hopes the pain dulls.” Pierce seemed to visibly wince at the idea, but he didn’t stop them as they left the rickety shack the group called both a base and a home. Goliath took an absurd amount of care to close the door, cause anything less and he was worried the door would crumble to dust.

“Good to see you finally up and doing some damn work,” Pierce crossed his arms. Goliath’s fists clenched over the doorknob, but he took in a deep breath, trying his best to stay calm.

“The pain made it hard for me to sleep…” he mumbled. “Now come on.”

The only good part about the shack they were holed up in is that it was in the nice part of town and not the slums. But that probably made it worse for Goliath. He saw men in tailored suits, farmers with barrels of fresh produce, knights in freshly polished armor. Seeing all of that just sickened Goliath. People were just… enjoying their lives while he was forced to wake up and deal with being a wash up in debt.

“If you’re still in pain, what makes you think you’re remotely capable of mercenary work?” Pierce asked.

“I literally have no choice, none of us do,” Goliath replied with a heavy sigh as he was led to the nearest town guard post. “If we’re lucky wherever we’d have to go might have some good bodies to loot or something. Maybe then we can sell off what we get and find some worthwhile potions.”

“That’s a rare case, a really rare case, and you know it,” Pierce said.

“I know but that’s a silent plea for some things to work in our fuckin favor. I need a real miracle by the time the week is up…”

“A miracle you say~?” Oh god. Oh fuck no. Oh god no please don’t let that be….

Goliath turned his head, even though he didn’t want to, and he was forced to stare into the smug, grinning profile of a man he would cheer to see tortured and beaten to death.

“Lancer…hello….” Goliath groaned. “How’s life…?”

“Oh boy is it good!” He grinned, walking up to Goliath until they were less than a foot apart. Lancer looked roughed up. His armor had scratches and his blond hair was frayed and all over the place. He was just on a job. It was obvious by not only the wear and tear on his armor, but the big pouch of gold dangling on his hip.

“Where’s the rest of your gang…?” Goliath asked.

“At the clergy, getting some proper healing! I didn’t need it, so that means I can spend more of my share of the earnings as I please. Had any luck with jobs, Goliath~?” Goliath clenched his fists, crossing his arms and glaring down at Lancer. Just like Jetta, he knew he had all the power in the world to drag and scrape his body through the cobblestone pavements to paint all those stones and pebbles for miles. But there were guards. And people. And any money he has to spend on bail wouldn’t be worth it.

“We’re going on a job,” Pierce interrupted, trying to step in between the two men. “We just accepted one, we’re just scoping out more just in case.”

“Ohhh~?” Lancer smirked. “I do hope it does well. Do you need a quick pick me up? Something to help with that?” Goliath tensed up. Oh no. Oh god no please not here. Lancer grabbed a small fistful of coins from his pouch. Beautiful, bright, shiny gold coins. Goliath tensed up, staring down at the money he tossed with a deep desperate hunger in his eyes that ashamed him more than anything.

“Pick them up,” Lancer smiled, malice in both his voice and the way his smile didn’t touch his eyes. Goliath didn’t reply to that. Instead he got down on his knees to pick up the coins, which shocked Pierce.

“Goliath get the fuck up! Don’t listen to-“

“Every coin counts, Pierce…” Goliath sighed. He could see people watching. People were staring at this mountain of a man being forced to crouch down on his knees for a few gold coins. He was careful to look around and find every piece he could, crawling around on his hands and knees like an injured animal. Pierce looked down at Goliath with a pained look in his eyes, before he turned around to Lancer’s spite fuel grin and reeled back to punch him. Hard. Lancer’s knees buckled and his head nearly turned 180 degrees from the force alone. Pierce was only a bit less bulky than Goliath, and so the raven haired man had an amazing amount of power behind his hits.

“Go fuck yourself!” Pierce yelled. “Pompous prick, don’t you got anything better to do?!” Lance felt the side of his face, his cheek already swelling from the hit, and he spat up a bit of blood onto the ground. In the direction of Goliath.

“Goliath knows his place at the bottom of the food chain, but it seems you still wanna fight back and not lie down like the mangy mutt you are,” he smirked. “I’d take back the money I threw at you two, but you’re lucky I’m in a good mood. So enjoy it.” Lance walked past the two of them, while Goliath was busy counting just how much was thrown at him.

“25…” he muttered. “That’s good, that’s good…”

“Goliath…” Pierce’s expression softened with pity looking at his so-called leader in this pitiful state, standing up with his fists clenched tight with the money he was given.

“Cmon…” Pierce sighed. “Let’s just find our next job…” Goliath nodded, following Pierce in complete silence.

Seeing that scene earlier, Pierce felt bad yelling at Goliath last night. It seems out of everyone in the group, it was Goliath who was most aware of the severity of their situation, and it was taking a toll on him physically and mentally. Pierce could see it. The bags under his eyes, his deep brown hair and beard growing shaggy with more grey hairs by the day, and the way his movements were slower due to exhaustion and pain. Pierce felt animosity towards everyone in the group, but at the very least had some semblance of respect for Goliath, only if it was because he knew he could be better than he is now. His physique, his aged but cared for battle axe, the scars peppering areas of his body and face. This was a man who had spent years being someone great.

“Goliath…” Pierce spoke up after minutes of silence leading up to the guard post. “What do you plan to do…after our debt’s been paid?” There was silence for a few seconds. Goliath pretended to scan the job listings, but truth be told he was looking at nothing in particular.

“I didn’t think that far,” he answered honestly. “I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. If I get to it.” Pierce began to check the papers posted up on the board. All of these were simply errand runs, guard duties, or missing pet posters. All of these paid some copper, a few silver. Nothing worth going out of their way to do. Pierce sighed and banged his fist on the wall, letting out a deep sigh.

“Maybe Beaumont’s right…we should just take the job he found. Maybe they didn’t name a price for a reason…”

“Yeah…yeah…” Goliath sighed. “Let’s just go back, tell Beaumont he was right and-“

“Tell Beaumont he was right, eh?” Beaumont in fact, was standing behind them, with Sage in tow. They seemed to be dressed for travel now.

“The fuck are you two doing here??” Pierce asked.

“We decided not to really…listen to you guys, and went to find you so we can follow the job we got,” Beaumont replied.

“Unless you two had luck of course,” Sage said. “Did you?”

“No…no we didn’t,” Goliath sighed. You still got that paper?”

“Of course,” Sage handed Goliath the job listing, rolled up and wrapped with a piece of string. “It could be our last sliver of hope. We have to try even if this all turns out for naught.”

“Yeah yeah….come on…” Goliath walked ahead of the group. “I know where to go.”

“You only saw the address once,” Beaumont said.

“He’s good with directions, not far fetched for him,” Sage pat Beaumont on the back and followed Goliath. Pierce was the last to trail behind, head down the entire way. He asked Goliath if he had a goal once their debt was cleared…but did he have his own goal? Did any of them have a goal figured out after they were debt free?

—-

“This is the place?”

“Yeah, this is it.”

The group was led to a caravan, and a pretty nice looking one at that. It was two stories, made of a pale wood decorated with bits of pink in places like the curtains, rails, and the foliage coming off of it. Instead of being carried by horses or any other riding animal, the caravan appeared to be a newer fancier one, using mana tech to be driven without the need of an animal. If this person could afford mana tech, maybe they could easily afford to pay them a decent bit of gold for a job well done.

“Do we just knock?” Sage scratched the unkempt parts of his silver beard. Goliath didn’t answer and instead stepped up to the door of the caravan to knock. Silence. So Goliath knocked again, but louder. He didn’t hear anything come from the first floor of the cart, but instead it came from the second floor.

“O-oh dear! Apologies! I didn’t expect anybody to answer my listing so soon!” A woman’s voice. A very sweet, bubbly, cheerful woman’s voice. Goliath looked up at whoever was coming down the ladder, approaching the group from the left as she fixed her hair and straightened her dress.

This woman…she was stunning.

Her skin was soft and a lovely shade of brown, hair a beautiful field of curls that were an even more lovely darker brown, with what looked like multicolored sprinkles or paper or confetti of some kind stuck in her beautiful curls. Her face was soft and round, with the most adorable dimples when her cute, plump lips curled up into a smile. She wore a very simple dress against her soft curvy frame, but her bright white apron was decorated with multiple stains and splatters of various colors. What was most apparent was that, because of the size of the entire group, she was much, much shorter than all of them. Beaumont was the shortest, but even he was over half a foot above her in height.

Goliath knew damn well this woman was an absolute beauty, but he kept as stoic as he could be, as the sleep deprivation and pain made him falter only slightly, and he cleared his throat to speak up.

“Are you the woman who posted this job listing?” He held out the rolled up parchment paper, and she immediately seemed to recognize it.

“Yes! Yes I am, though I will say, I only expected one, maybe two people to accept this sort of work. It’ll be a bit crowded with all of you…but I’ll find a way to make it work!” The woman clasped her hands together with a bright smile on her face.

“Okay! How about we talk business? First of all, my name is Camille Caramello, a pleasure to meet you all!” Camille held her hand out, and Goliath took the initiative to shake it first.

“Goliath Bernwald. Nice to work with you.”

“I’m Pierce Ravenscroft.”

“Beaumont Lairot!”

“You may call me Sage Caverly.”

Camille had an optimistic smile throughout their exchange, though her smile faltered to a bit more of an uncomfortable one when she took a better look at the entire party.

“Before we talk…are you guys…okay?” She asked. “Do you need anything? A rest, something to eat…a bath…?” The group all felt a collective wave of embarrassment at their predicament being very boldly pointed out by this young woman. Even after trying to present themselves, all 4 men were still rather unkempt and tired from uncomfortable sleep, little food, and constant work.

“I…can’t accept that ma’am…” Goliath said. “We’re here to ask you for work, nothing more, nothing less.”

“What good are you all going to be working for me in this state?” She pointed out. “Come on. There’s a river nearby, I have something that you guys might need.” She went into the caravan, and soon came out holding a couple bars of soap. Homemade soap from the looks of it.

“Start with a bath. Then we can talk.” Goliath stared at the bars of soap in her hand. He looked uncomfortable taking it, but when he turned back to his party, Beaumont was the first man to take a bar of soap.

“Thank ya kindly, miss!” He grinned, running in the direction of the river as he began stripping his armor off as he walked. “I dunno about you guys but I’m going in!”

Goliath clicked his tongue in disapproval at Beaumont’s attitude. However…he lifted the bar up to his face to take a sniff. Mmm…it smelled like honeysuckles. He followed Beaumont down to the river, where he already saw him completely stripped down naked as he jumped into the river with a very large SPLASH. When Beaumont resurfaced, there was a big excited grin on his face while he began scrubbing himself down with the bar of soap.

“Cmon big guy! You could use a bath yourself!” He chuckled. Goliath silently began to undress, glancing every so often at Beaumont running his hands through his hair and scrubbing his body down with soap. Goliath wasn’t the only one in a rough state. Beaumont’s body, once almost completely akin to a marble statue, looked quite a bit skinnier and frailer, and there were bruises all across his body that didn’t show signs of healing anytime soon. That’s what made Goliath realize that…his team, they might not be as fit anymore for a fight. Everyone was hungry, tired, and weaker. A big, heavy fraction of him expected this mission to end in another failure.

“Are you gonna get in big guy or nah?” Beaumont rested on the side of the river, already looking cleaner and brighter after his brief scrubbing.

“Oh yeah, okay,” Goliath slowly sank into the water. The day was nice and warm but the water was quite cold. It didn’t bother Goliath much, though he seemed more sensitive to it now than he used to be.

“That woman, what an absolute angel!” Sage was soon nearby disrobing with Pierce, grabbing an old comb from his bag before going into the water. “I ran out of money to make my own soaps, so scented soaps really are a dream come true nowadays!”

“I’m not sure about that, this could just be some ploy to get us alone and defenseless,” Pierce left his clothes to the side, but kept a dagger on him.

“And do what? Rob us?” Sage said. “What do we have that she could want?”

“Our organs,” Pierce countered.

“That little cutie pie in the caravan? An organ harvester? Yeah no Pierce you’re far too paranoid,” Beaumont chuckled. “Just enjoy having a nice relaxing bath. Here if you want to, I can help you shear that side of your head for you.” Pierce scoffed, but once he got into the water, handed Beaumont a blade and sat near him in the river.

“Alright, go ahead,” he sighed.

“Want me to shave that caterpillar between your brows too?”

“Suck my dick.”

“I mean…you got it out so…”

“Gimme my knife back,” Pierce tried to take the knife back, but not too hard, because Beaumont just continued to shave down the side of Pierce’s head.

“What so you can stab me? Absolutely not bucko!”

“Nobody stabs anybody,” Goliath wet his bar of soap and slowly dragged it across his body, using it to wash every inch of his hairy, heavy body, from the very bottom of his stomach all the way up to his massive chest. Though his figure, it used to be far larger than this. He could tell from the way his skin felt looser on him that he was significantly smaller than he should be, even if he’s still larger than a regular peasant.

“This soap smells incredible!” Sage got his long silver hair wet to start combing it. “Mmm, I get hints of lavender and star anise…! Made in house I assume.”

“You’d be correct!” Sage flinched a bit when he heard Camille right behind him, kneeling by the river with a smile on her face.

“How are you gentlemen doing?” She asked.

“Oh uh, miss, we’re a bit indecent, are you sure we can talk like this? It’d be rude to expose myself to such a stunning woman like you,” Sage said.

“You’re all mostly submerged, so it should be fine,” she replied. “I think it’d be easier to talk business while you all relax here. Makes the atmosphere less tense.” Goliath raised an eyebrow at that. A much smaller, softer young woman, getting all 4 men stripped down and without their weapons to make negotiations more comfortable for her. Quite clever.

“We can talk like this,” Goliath said. “Now, that job title you gave, it was awfully vague. Can we get more details here?”

“Yes, of course,” Camille got more comfortable on the side of the river, pulling out a map she kept tucked in a pouch on her hip. “Bounty valley is about a 3 day travel in my caravan. I need adventurers to go with me into the main Beehives that reside there and protect me while I collect a few jars of royal jelly.” Goliath was familiar with what she was talking about. Bounty Valley was a bit too far for the group to readily travel to and fro there on foot, but when they did get to go here, they were set for food for weeks because of the rapid rate of flora and fauna growth. But because of that, the animals there were large, and dangerous. And this woman was offering to find a way to sneak into the main hives. She’s gotta be crazy to want that.

“Miss, are you sure you want that from us?” He asked.

“Very. Because what’s in that hive is worth more than gold. If you guys can safely bring me to that hive, I’m expecting a profit of 250 gold minimum. I’ll split anything I get in half with you guys.” Everyone paused what they were doing. Beaumont stopped shaving Pierce, who looked up with wide, shocked eyes, and Sage had his comb stuck on a knot in his hair when he paused.

“That much? Are you serious?” Goliath got out of the water, standing right next to Camille, who proceeded to close her eyes and look the other direction.

“This seems like a trap,” he said to her. “Probably planning to feed us to those bees in there. Offering that much for this job is-“

“Is worth the danger I’m putting myself and you all in if you accept this,” she stood up, this time turning to look Goliath in the eyes. Though the task was…very impossible from beneath him.

“Please sir, I’ve asked multiple people. Even with the money I offer they have all turned me away. And if there are any more accommodations you need, please tell me.” Camille had a silent determination in her eyes. Something to show that she won’t back down so easily. Goliath wanted to argue back, but he realized this was a blessing in disguise. This was their last chance to get a sizable amount of money. Three day travel, possibly a day of planning, and three days back unless Jetta finds them before then.

“We’ll be ready for you by sundown,” Goliath answered. “Everyone, let’s get ready.”

“So we got the job?” Beaumont was next to crawl out of the water, a hopeful, overly excited grin on his face. “We got the job boys! Hell yeah!”

“Clothes! Both of you put your clothes back on!” Sage exclaimed, grabbing Beaumont by the ankle as he left the water. “We're in the presence of a young lady!” Camille immediately turned heel and started walking back to the caravan, trying to hide the fact that her face was a bit red.

“You guys can get dressed! I’ll be in the same place! Goodbye!” She waved at them as she left.

“Hmph, Sage you’re the one who made so much fuss,” Goliath said. “But we’ve got the job. So that’s good.”

“How should we plan this though?” Pierce asked. “We’re all at least a lil bit familiar with the wildlife in that accursed place. Did you have something in mind?” Goliath placed a hand under his chin. He had an inkling of an idea, but this would take cooperation from everyone here, and cooperation was a bit more difficult, especially after their last job.

“You’re all going to have to listen to me and listen to me good. We fuck this up, and it’s our last chance. Got it?”

—-

Camille took a deep breath, going into her caravan to check on her items she stocked. She didn’t expect 4 men to answer her job listing, and because of that, felt a bit more unsure of the 50/50 split. More importantly, she had to keep food stocked for the journey. Maybe she can harvest some stuff there…but she might have to do more than that. She saw their bodies. Sage and Beaumont, they showed signs of quite a bit of malnutrition, poor Sage had visible ribs. And even Pierce and Goliath, they were big men but she could see the weight falling off of them fast.

“As long as they’re helping me,” she said to herself, pounding her fist in her hand. “I’m keeping them fed. I’ll have to dip into shop supplies, but it’s worth it.” Camille felt hopeful. Baking and candy making, anybody even remotely skilled could do it. So if she could set herself apart even just a little bit, she could make it big. Even if it means starting off hiring a bunch of very unequipped starving mercenaries for her first big supply haul. From inside her caravan, she heard the sounds of the group’s footsteps, sounds like they were all dressed and ready, so she went out carrying a woven pouch with her.

“Gentlemen! You said sundown, correct?” Camille stepped out of her caravan. “Do you all want something to eat with me?”

“Huh? You’re offering us a meal…?” Pierce asked. “Hm…you’re just one woman. How much do you have in stock for all of us?”

“Well, I’ll worry about that later, but I keep some portable stew in my cabinets. When you dry it all out, I have a stock that keeps me filled for weeks. But I’ll need something out of you guys.” She put the woven pouch down and retreated back into the caravan. Pierce knelt down and took a look at what was in the bag. It was dried pieces of roux cut up into cubes, and chunks of dried meat and vegetables were strewn throughout each cube. Pierce picked one up and gave it a quick sniff.

“Doesn’t smell suspicious…”

“Oh yeah poisoning her own food supply just to hurt us,” Beaumont scoffed.

“Would you just shut up? Anything could happen. This entire thing seems sketchy.”

“You don’t seem to have a good memory of Bounty Valley, that amount of money she’s offering is well worth the price of us going,” Goliath said. “Only other money we’d expect is some bounty, and lord knows those are few and far between, and even harder to hunt down and capture.”

“This just all seems too lucky for us,” Pierce said. “There’s gotta be a catch, a trick, something-“ Pierce was interrupted when Camille came back and placed down a giant cooking pot.

“I just need someone here to fetch me some water, and start a fire,” she said. “Can you guys do that?”

“Can you increase our pay if we do?” Pierce asked, glaring at her.

“If you guys finish the job, then yes, yes I can.” Pierce scoffed, but stood up and walked over to the river.

“Sage, how do you feel? Think you can purify some water?”

“I’ve got some mana in me, and that’s not that daunting,” Sage shrugged, sitting cross-legged in the grass.

“Oh no no no, I can purify the water myself,” Camille said.

“Oh you’re a magic user too?” Sage’s ears perked up. “What do you study?”

“I’m not a full time magic user, and I simply study magic based in recovery and support without the assistance of holy magic.”

“A non-holy healer? Oh wow, those are rare,” Sage grinned, leaning closer to Camille. “But it’s quite the endeavor.”

“I find learning non-holy healing magic is good for those who don’t have the privilege of receiving holy healing. Like let’s say…you were of infernal blood, or undead, or some form of darker fey.” Pierce’s eyes narrowed at Camille as she spoke, but just continued to the river in silence.

“Where do you keep the firewood, miss?” Beaumont asked, as he was already walking towards the caravan.

“You’ll see it in the back, you don’t even have to go in, it's piled up there,” she answered.

“You do all of this by yourself?” Goliath asked.

“Mostly! I don’t bust out the big cauldron if I’m cooking for myself, but other than that all of this work I do on my own,” she shrugged.

“It sounds quite lonely, don’t you ever crave companionship of any kind?” Sage seemed to try and get closer and closer to Camille, and Goliath kept his eyes locked on him as a result. He knew Sage, and Sage loved the small and feminine. Camille was both very small and very feminine, and he wasn’t sure if he trusted him alone with what was their new employer. Maybe. Surely Sage knew better than to try and charm his way with the woman who was giving them their hard earned money.

“I do, but it’s hard to find someone who can tolerate always having somewhere else to be,” Camille sighed. “People like stability, they like being in familiar places and I don’t do that.”

“I don’t care much for stability,” Sage placed a hand on her shoulder, flashing a very gentle, very flirtatious smile. “I don’t think any of my team does. We have a base of operations but that’s just where we keep our stuff.” Just as Goliath was about to go over and say something, Pierce and Beaumont showed up with the pot and the wood. And for further emphasis, Pierce placed the pot down right between Sage and Camille.

“Oh! You guys got everything!” Camille smiled. “First, let’s get the water purified.” She grabbed another pouch at her hip, and sprinkled what looked to be a fistful of salt into the water. As she did, she began to chant something. The language wasn’t familiar, but as Sage listened to it, it started to sound like some fae language, though what kind, he wasn’t familiar with

As her chanting continued, the water swirled on its own. Sage could hear some words repeat as she chanted, and looked down into the water as what looked to be some sort of black, oily scum started to condense into one place, the exact center of the pot, packing together as tight as it possibly could, until eventually there was a solid mass of filth. Once Camille stopped chanting, she grabbed the black mass and very casually tossed it as far as she could into the trees.

“All done!” She grinned.

“Oh shoot! That was kinda cool,” Beaumont said. “Sage’s magic doesn’t purify water that way, that’s kinda baller.” He was right, Sage’s magic didn’t do that. His own magic would’ve had everything dissipate into a harmless black smoke that would vanish, but for Camille, the filth stayed the same, but was just turned into an object that Camille could physically dispose of. Either she was more inexperienced, or found a way to save her own mana with quicker, easier tricks.

“Now folks,” Camille rubbed her hands together excitedly. “Let’s begin!”

—-

The fire was lit, the pot was bubbling, and once it got to a certain point, Camille began dropping the cubes of stew into the water one by one. As she did, she kept on continuously stirring, while Sage made sure the fire kept steady and everyone else sat around to watch. The water began going from a nice beautiful crystal clear to a murky brown, and began to thicken up. In fact, it thickened up a lot more than expected. All 4 men were expecting it to just be watery soup with bits of meat and vegetables in them, but it’s like the stew came to life, with the chunks in the bowl almost swelling up and becoming nice and moist. Goliath was trying to keep a straight face, arms crossed as he kept watch, but the entire time, he was drooling at the scent wafting from the pot. In fact, he felt like trying his best to keep stoic just made the sound of his growling gut even louder as he tried to keep as stoic as possible.

But the smell…he recognized the smell. It reminded him of a time long gone, when he was much younger…a time before he could barely grow a few whiskers of hair on his chin, and his father was out hunting wild Floral Stags.

“Venison?” Goliath asked as Camille poured a few bowls of the stew. “The meat in this is Venison, right?”

“Oh? How did you know?” Camille asked, passing him his bowl. “But yes, this is venison stew I dried up, with some onion, carrot, and potato chunks placed in. Give it a try.” Goliath looked down at his bowl, noticing just how nice and thick the broth was. It all looked fresh, like it wasn’t just a dried block oh so long ago. He shakily lifted the bowl to his lips, letting the broth, the meat, everything touch his tongue, and every single nerve end in his body felt like it lit up.

It was so warm, and oh so good. It was cooked so lovingly, every bit of flavor was condensed so tightly in those small dried cubes of roux that they exploded on impact with the liquid that revitalized every morsel of this meal. It was just one bowl but it felt like enough to make Goliath’s belly swell like he had overstuffed himself.

Before he realized, Goliath felt tears streaming down his cheeks as he ate, and he just kept eating and eating, letting his bowl run empty and licking every inch of it clean. He didn’t even realize that…he was the only one eating that entire time. Camille was about to pass him a spoon, while his entire group looked both surprised and extremely worried by Goliath’s state.

“Is everything okay, Goliath?” Sage asked.

“Yes…yes it’s fine Sage…” Goliath muttered. “This is good…this is really good, Miss Caramello.” Camille couldn’t help but smile at that, and as she passed down the spoons, once she got to Goliath, she gave him a gentle pat on his arm.

“Do you want seconds?” She looked up at him, eyes twinkling against the backdrop of the setting sun. Her smile, the care in her eyes. Pierce kept telling the group something was off about her, but right now, Goliath saw her as an angel sent to give them one last chance. And by god he was going to take that chance.

As Goliath gave a small nod, Camille grabbed his bowl and poured in another nice, healthy ladle full of stew. By then, everyone else had gotten served and one by one took a big heaping spoonful in their mouths. And one by one, the 3 other men’s faces lit up. A bolt of energy coursed through each of them as a sense of warmth and comfort washed over the entire group.

“Ma’am…this is splendid,” Sage spoke up. “You have no idea how much this means…!”

“From foraged greens and poorly cooked rabbit to a proper fuckin dinner!” Beaumont grinned. “Mmm!! Thank you so so much miss!”

“…this is…well…” Pierce noticed Camille was eating, same as the rest, and felt more comfortable indulging. “This is really excellent.”

“I really appreciate you guys saying that! I’m more of a bakery and candymaker than chef, so knowing you guys think this is good is perfect to me,” Camille smiled. She didn’t even have to pour seconds for anybody. When a bowl was empty, one of the men would reach over, fill their own bowl to the brim and continue eating. In fact, after that words weren’t really exchanged, nothing else was said until, to Camille’s surprise, the pot was completely emptied.

Goliath ate the most, and by the end of this, he laid down right in the grass while rubbing his very full, very warm stomach.

“Ohhhh gods…” he moaned. “I might’ve overdone it…”

“Overdone it?” Beaumont chuckled as he rested his elbows on top of the prone Goliath. “In the beginning of our travels I’ve seen you eat entire roasted pigs and ask for seconds.”

“I’m gonna work my way back up to that, just you wait,” Goliath replied.

“I think I might pass out…!” Pierce began to unbuckle his belt and let his stomach hang a bit loose over his pants. “Fuckin hell…”

“I’m so grateful to receive a meal like this dear Camille…!” Sage leaned against the now empty pot with a satisfied sigh. “A bath, a meal, all that’s missing is a nice swig of ale and a game of cards.”

“Careful now we can’t spoil ourselves too much~!” Beaumont smiled. “But I dunno if we’re fit for travel now that we’re so damn full…!”

“Oh don’t worry about that,” Camille stood up. “Now room accommodations are going to be tight, but you all can sleep in my second floor room, and I’ll be driving until I get tired. If anything happens on the road, I’ll alert you all.”

“Sounds good to me!” Beaumont gave a thumbs up and was first to hop up and go back to the caravan.

“Ah-! No no, you guys help me clean first!” Camille called out to him. “Dispose of the ashes safely and wash out the pots and bowls.”

“We’re not servants, you can do that on your own,” Pierce said, before Goliath gave him a smack against the head so rough Pierce nearly doubled over.

“Of course we’ll help,” Goliath said with a huff.

After a very reluctant cleanup, the 4 men all climbed the ladder up to Camille’s bedroom on the second story. It was going to be small, but it only sank to the group just how small it really was.

Goliath could hardly fit through the doorway it was that small, and of course the bed was only fit for one small woman, but there were plenty of blankets and pillows to make room to sleep on. But even then, it was a tight squeeze, with the entire group taking extra care to not hit anything, though it looked like most items were very secure in place.

Despite the tightness of it, there was a nice pleasant flowery smell, and it was nice and warm inside.

“Looks like we’ll be bumming like this for a week tops…!” Sage groaned, wrapping himself up in a blanket.

“This kinda makes me miss the apothecary shop…” Pierce sighed. At that, there were small footsteps coming up very quickly, and Camille poked her little head in through the door.

“Sorry for eavesdropping, but I heard the word apothecary shop…!” She whispered with a bit of glee behind her voice. “You guys live in a place like that?”

“We do, but it’s run down, abandoned, shitty, but we have enough space for each one of us to have our own sleeping quarter,” Beaumont said.

“Hm…I’d like to see it when you all return,” she slowly closed the door back behind her. “Well, goodnight guys!”

“Fuck, she can hear us talking…” Pierce whispered. “She could’ve heard me saying all that earlier.”

“You think?” Goliath huffed. “That better not have cost us. We need every penny.”

“Goodnight asshole…” Pierce scoffed, trying to get comfortable while smushed up shoulder to shoulder with the group. Only person who could sort of kind of fit on the bed was Beaumont, and he took full advantage of that as the group finally tried to go to sleep. In fact, as they felt the cart rumble to a start, the noise of the wheels turning on dirt and the slight friction lulled them even faster to sleep.

—-

Waking up like this…it was a real hassle. Goliath, Sage, and Pierce ended up tangled together in the night, Goliath using Pierce’s chest and stomach as a pillow while Sage ended up on top of both of them. When Pierce woke up, because he was usually the first to, he was basically pinned to the ground by both men.

“This is the worst…” he groaned. “Get offa me you idiots…!” Pierce was about to shove them off, but he paused, smelling something wafting through the air. Fry bread…and was that pork? There was food being cooked this morning…!

“Mmm…fuck what’s that smell…?” Beaumont groaned as he sat up out of bed. “Smells good…”

“I think our employer’s making breakfast…” Pierce muttered.

“Really???” In his excitement, Beaumont got up out of bed, and had to trample over the group to get to the door, which DEFINITELY woke them up.

“You motherfucker…!” Goliath groaned as he woke up. “Careful where you walk…!”

“Yeah yeah!” Beaumont grinned. “Come on before I eat it all!”

“Oh gods he stepped on my tailbone…!” Sage groaned in pain, sitting up and rubbing the small of his back. “I’m killing that boy with my bare hands…!”

“Your bare hands can’t even chop firewood, I still remember that incident!!!” Beaumont called from down below.

“Are you TRYING to piss us off?!” Sage slammed open the door, forgetting he was on the second story of a caravan and tumbling downwards, rolling his ankle by stepping on the edge of the platform wrong. Luckily Beaumont was able to catch him in the nick of time, holding Sage bridal style in his arms.

“Hey there Prince Charming~!” Beaumont teased.

“You guys having fun?” Camille was standing right behind them, eating a piece of campfire fry bread slathered in honey.

“Oh! Hey miss!” Beaumont dropped Sage the second he saw her, letting him land with a heavy THUD. “We smelled food, did you make anything?”

“Hm? Oh yeah, nothing big, but it’s probably enough,” she said.

“Oh what a kind woman you are!” Sage stood up, trying not to bring to attention his sore body after being dropped so harshly. “Breakfast in the morning? Served by our employer? You might as well be giving me a massage and a facial!”

“Oh goodness I’m only keeping you all nice and healthy for the job!” She giggled. “Come with me, Sage we’re going to have to talk one on one, I’ll need help driving my caravan and you seem the most magically inclined out of the group.”

“Now now, I’m a spell caster myself,” Pierce went down the ladder, yawning as he raised his arms in a big, long stretch. “It’s not my main profession but I do know my fair share of magic.” He pointed to the newly shaved side of his head to a tattooed symbol. It was a simple one, a rounded triangle that had a spiral leading right to its center.

“Oh, forgive my assumptions, by your psychique I thought you were a fighter similar to the rest of your party,” Camille replied. “I was actually wondering where your weapon was.” Camille, when first meeting the group, had noticed Goliath with a maul strapped to his back, Beaumont had a sword strapped to his hip, and Sage was fumbling with his bag of marbles. Pierce though, he didn’t have anything.

“Oh yeah, right,” Pierce held one hand out, and as he did, the tattoo on his head began to glow a bright unnatural purple. In a brief flash of light shimmering in his outstretched palm appeared a battleaxe. However, there were strings on it, the handle was also doubling as a neck, and there were tuning pegs on the extended pommel. It wasn’t just an axe, it was a guitar. A very odd one, appearing as if it used similar magic tech as the caravan Camille drove.

“Oh my word!” Camille gasped in amazed astonishment. “You’re a bard!”

“Damn right I am,” Pierce had a slightly coy smirk on his face at the acknowledgement. “But spellcasting’s only half of my specialty.”

“Which means you’re half as good as if you picked one over the other,” Goliath just hopped down from off the second floor, his landing so heavy the ground shook a bit.

“Yeah? And what are your big muscles gonna do against an ice construct beaming down rays of burning cold frost at you?” Pierce scoffed.

“My body could take it,” Goliath shrugged.

“No the fuck it could not!” Pierce gave a joking jab at Goliath’s gut, right on his navel.

“Alright asshole quit trying to rough house so we can eat,” Goliath put a large hand over Pierce’s head. A small clearing in the trees was used to not only park, but also set up a blanket with a small spread of items. Campfire bread, jam, honey, some pickled eggs, and slices of bacon.

“You say this isn’t much, but this is a pretty good spread for all of us,” Pierce sat down and grabbed a piece of bread.

“This isn’t being deducted from our pay…right?” Beaumont asked with a mouth full of bacon and eggs.

“Oh good heavens no!” Camille giggled. “I don’t think you guys would do a good job for me if you were all starving and weak. This is to keep your strength up!” Camille hopped straight up from her sitting position, hair bouncing and bobbing and her expression starry eyed and optimistic. Sage had that expression. That damn expression that spreads across his face when he sees something, or someone, he absolutely has to try and grab. His smile and his tanned cheeks flushing a darker red were evident of what he was thinking.

“So, when do you want to teach me how to use your caravan?” Sage asked Camille.

“After we eat. Once we eat we can set off, but truth be told, I’m a bit tired,” Camille rubbed the back of her neck. “I was riding all night admittedly, so I’m running on fumes.”

“Darling, that's no good!” Sage gasped. “You can rest, trust me when I say I’ll make sure the caravan runs smoothly!”

“I dunno how you feel trusting your big expensive machine to a stranger Miss Caramello,” Pierce said. “Which is what this old fuck is.”

“I want to sleep, and I want you guys to get to your destination,” she shrugged. “So that’s how I’m planning it. If the caravan starts to make weird sputtering noises, wake me up.”

“First of all, not an old fuck,” Sage swallowed the last of his jam on bread. “Second of all, I’m a quick learner. Third of all, I’m ready to get taught~!”

“Your banter between colleagues amuses me~!” Camille grabbed Sage’s hand and guided him back to the caravan, and Sage’s face lit up with an even bigger grin. Once their backs were turned, Goliath leaned over to Pierce.

“Watch that one and make sure he doesn’t start thinking with his nether regions,” he sneered.

“Was already thinking of that.”

—-

With the food eaten and packed and Sage with enough knowledge on how to drive the caravan, the group ended up on the road. A nice public road out in the middle of the day, the trees parted but still providing a nice amount of shade from the sun during the travel. Camille was up on the second floor, and was laying in bed trying to go to sleep.

Those men, they slept in here, it might’ve been a tight squeeze, but it was all she had as most of the main caravan down below was where she worked. She could smell a hint of them on her bedsheet when she pulled the covers up, and she couldn’t help but blush at the thought. Big, burly men, in HER caravan, working for HER. She had to keep a straight face around them but up here, she could smile and giggle and roll around in the covers thinking about how they’re going to be working for her this next week..!

But as excited and giggly as she was, she was also quite exhausted from her travels. She was about to finally drift off to sleep, even if Sage’s riding was a bit bumpy, but the caravan came to a very harsh stop all of a sudden, and the force nearly flung her out of bed. Oh no, time to check that out.

“Ey ey! Outa the way!” Pierce exclaimed. Blocking their way was a group of men situated on the dirt path. Seedy looking men too. There were half a dozen of them, with their bags strewn about and a couple were twirling daggers around in their hands. Not even hiding what they were supposed to be doing.

“Now now gentlemen,” a very tall lanky scruffy haired man approached the caravan, a coy, sleazy smirk on his face. “This is where you gotta give a bit of toll money to cross. Don’t got any? Can’t cross.”

“Well we don’t got any!” Sage scoffed. “Now can we move on?”

“Didn’t you hear him geezer?” A shorter, chubbier guy spoke up from the group. “No money and you can’t cross!”

“Buuut…you got some nice stuff from the looks of your fancy lil cart…” the lanky man grinned. “Want us to take a look inside?”

“I don’t think you want that gentlemen,” Pierce narrowed his eyes at the group, while the symbol on his forehead began to emit a faint glow.

“Then hand over some shiny lil coins and we can let you off…!”

“Absolutely not!” Sage said a bit louder. “We have places to be, and we’re not bothering to entertain you lot!” Camille could hear the commotion outside, and she started to peek her head out from the door up top. Since it opened out behind the caravan, she scanned the area and could hear some faint rustling in the bushes. There were more than six, and they were hiding just in case.

“Cmon gentlemen! This cart looks fancy!” The tall lanky man started walking behind the cart, though it looked like neither Sage nor Pierce put up a fight when he did. They both gave each other a knowing look, as if this had happened before.

“Let’s just have us search the back and…” the highwayman opened the door to the caravan up, and the second he did, Goliath’s large, meaty hand was clamped around his throat like it was no thicker than a piece of chicken wire. Goliath stepped out of the cart with the highwayman grasped in his hand, lifted off his feet with ease.

“We’re on a time crunch, idiot,” he snarled. “So you and your posse should move out of our goddamn way before I decide if you look better with your neck pointed east…” The highwayman tried to vocalize something, with only gurgles and chokes coming from his strained throat, and in a flash of a second, Goliath felt something penetrate the meat in his shoulder, and he dropped the highwayman as he roared in pain. Camille knew it. Someone in the bushes fired a shot. This was bad.

“We were trying to play nice, but now you’re gonna get it!” The highwayman scoffed after getting a big breath of air. “Come on out boys! Let’s catch these bozos and strip this cart of everything it’s worth!” At that, the group of men almost tripled in size. A dozen men came from the trees and bushes, all crowding around the caravan. 6, the group may have been able to take, but 18….oh that was bad.

“Protect Camille! And the cart!” Goliath called out.

“Got it!” Beaumont tossed Goliath the maul, who caught it with ease, while Sage grabbed a blue marble from his bag without even looking and tossed it up into the air. It shimmered, glowing in the sunlight, before the glow got so bright it was almost like a flash bang, followed by a cloud of smoke permeating the entire field. The group of highwaymen were smart enough not to attack, but were also careful and on the watch in case anything came at them. In fact, nothing came at them. But there was the faint tuning of a guitar. A melody that started slow but gradually became faster and faster, like a tune meant to dance to.

In fact, some of them did begin to dance. Not willingly, not willingly at all. The group of men could hear their feet tapping and arms swaying with the music, some locking arms with each other to join in this horrid forceful dance.

“Wh-who the fuck is playing that!” One of them yelled.

“Get them to stop! Wherever they are get them to-“ One highwayman looked up, and all he saw was the hard cold metal of a maul, before a hard wet CRUNCH sounded through the fog. Goliath was the cause, staring through the fog at the highwayman’s crushed ribs as blood pooled from his mouth. Camille was sitting on his shoulders, and while Camille fashioned her own plugs quickly from cotton, she had her hands very firmly pressed on Goliath’s ears. While the music played Goliath had no hindrance to start his onslaught. The men danced and could do nothing except listen and barely see through the fog as a man nearly 8 feet tall swung his maul to crush them. All it took was one swing. One well placed powerful swing and men were sent to the ground with their legs crushed, their bodies crushed. But Goliath didn’t aim for the heads. He wasn’t a killer. He just wanted them out of his way to continue his work.

Though, Goliath’s hand slipped. He just hit his fifth man to the ground before he swung just a bit too wildly. He heard a very familiar grunt in pain. He didn’t hear a clink, but he knew he had grazed Pierce. Especially because he heard the music stop, and the fog starting to vanish.

“Shit…!” Goliath cursed under his breath, and Pierce held his head in pain, about to start strumming again, but his playing hand was shot clean through with an arrow. While some of the remaining highwaymen started carrying their allies to safety, the remaining 8 were still heavily outnumbering the party, and took full advantage of that.

“That’s it…! We’re killing ya now!” One of the highwaymen growled, who ended up fast enough to grab Sage from behind and hold a knife up to his throat. Sage had to act quick, and though he fumbled trying to grab the dagger from the loop on Pierce’s pant legs, he got it in time to jam it right into his captor’s thigh, pushing him off and trying to dig in his bag for another marble.

“You know I’m sick of being seen as an easy target just because of my age!” Sage scattered several marbles onto the ground, with Goliath trying to back away instinctively. Once they hit the ground, several spells just started firing off in multiple spurts. None of them were big, in fact Sage managed to find just the right spells even after grabbing fistfuls at random, to where it would just damage people and not items. A root that grabbed hold of your ankle and kept you there while sucking away your energy, a shot of wind forcing you on your back, a portal opening up under your feet and then swallowing you before spitting you out with your bones crushed from the weight of hard earth…

Goliath knew damn well to stay out of the way, but stumbled over his own feet, and because of that Camille’s grip felt a bit looser, and she fell right off of him onto the dirt path. Just as she fell, another highwayman grabbed her, and he was large enough to lift her off her feet and put her in a chokehold with his rather large biceps.

“Not so fast girlie!” He sneered. “You all try anything else and the girl dies!” Goliath paused. Camille was trapped, clawing at the highwayman’s forearm, trying to break free from her bonds, however…there was one person unaccounted for. And Goliath could see that unaccounted for colleague who was as quiet as a mouse behind the highwayman…up until Beaumont SLAMMED the pommel of his sword onto just the right spot on his head to knock him out cold. Camille managed to break free, finally letting out a nice lungful of air.

“Is that it? That all of them?” Beaumont asked.

“Some of them are tending to their comrades,” Goliath wiped the few specks of blood off his cheeks. “We can hunt them down and pick them off.”

“No, no no,” Camille shook her head. “I’m going to check to see if nobody died during that. After you guys are tended to, of course.” Sage was helping Pierce snap the arrow in his hand in half to slide it out his hand, meanwhile Goliath yanked his arrow out from his shoulder while grunting in pain.

“Cheap old things,” he muttered. “Didn’t even penetrate that far….”

“No need to tend to us…” Pierce winced in pain as the two broken ends of the arrow slid out of his hand with ease. “This can heal on its own…”

“I’m not sure about that…” Camille went into her cart. After doing a brief count to see if everything was still accounted for, she went into her storage cabinet and pulled out a jar of candy, with the label Healing on it. The jar clinked and clacked as the balls of candy rolled around in their, and she came out to hand one tiny bright red ball of candy to everyone.

“You can either suck on it slowly, or bite into it for fast acting healing,” she instructed. “They look and sound hard but once you bite they’re pretty chewy inside.”

“Candy?” Pierce scoffed, accepting a piece with his good hand. “You’re giving us candy?”

“Yes! I’m giving you candy!” Camille nodded, smiling as if nothing was wrong with her statement.

“Nothing hurt me….but….” Beaumont was the first to pop the candy in his mouth despite being mostly unharmed. He didn’t start chewing, just kept rolling it around on his tongue.

“Mmm…mmm…oh that tastes good…!” He smiled. “You got any more? I thought these would be all weird and shit but they’re not!”

“Not for you! These are for the injured!” Camille began to walk into the forest where the highwaymen ran off too, but Goliath immediately grabbed her by the shoulder.

“What are you doing?” He asked in a very strict, incredulous tone.

“Giving some to those men,” she answered matter of factly.

“Why?”

“Those men don’t have the means of tending to their wounds that you inflicted. Most likely a few might die, so to avoid any of that guilt, I’m going to supply them with exactly what they need!”

“You are NOT doing that,” Goliath said sternly.

“Well…yes I am. Wanna know why?” She still had a smile on her face, but it was very coy and playful, almost sarcastic. “You’ve been hired by me, to protect me. If you want me to do what I planned to do and have a 60/40 split with you all getting the bigger end of that ratio, instead of the halfway split we discussed, you’re going to let me help those men before they die choking on their own blood. Got that?” She planned to give them more? Goliath immediately went stiff at the knowledge.

“Beaumont, let’s go,” Goliath commanded.

“Do I gotta go with? Really?” He sighed.

“Beaumont, I said let’s go,” Goliath huffed in a more demanding tone. Beaumont just clicked his tongue in response and followed Camille into the forests and shrubbery. This time, as they could hear the men’s groans of pain and struggles to care for them, another arrow flew at the group. This time, Goliath expected that so easily caught it between his fingers.

“Trying to finish the job?!” The highwayman yelled. His hands on the bow were shaky and sweat poured down his face. He was aiming to shoot Goliath again but seeing the way the arrow was caught made him far more hesitant

“No, we have a peace offering,” Camille held up the candy jar. “We have no reason to kill any of you, in fact we’re here to help.” The highwayman very nervously lowered his bow, and began to approach. She motioned for Goliath and Beaumont to step back a bit from her, so they did. Though Goliath still stood right behind her with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

“What are these?” The highwayman asked once he was at a comfortable distance.

“They’re here to help the injured. There’s 18 of you, correct? I’ll give you all about a dozen. Split them amongst yourselves and for the more gravely injured, they need to swallow this immediately even if it’s difficult for them.” She poured out the candies into his hands. He looked down at them, surprised by the gesture.

“They’re not poison are they?”

“Like I said before, I have no reason to kill you guys. All I ask for in exchange is to keep our interaction a secret from anybody who tries to ask.”

“Easy enough. Fine, since you’re doing this much, and we haven’t had a successful haul in a fair bit, you’re giving us more than we’ve gotten. So…I guess goodbye.”

“Goodbye indeed,” Camille said with a smile. Goliath glanced between her and the highwayman, a sense of guilt creeping up his throat. Guess they were desperate just like his own group. Camille probably knew that and was extending an olive branch. That kindness of hers, now he knew how Pierce felt about Camille. This type of kindness made him think that eventually, soon enough, there would be some catch to it. Like she was love bombing them before eventually trapping them in a web of lies and manipulation too powerful to pull free from.

That’s okay though. This will just be one job with her, and they’ll part ways.

“And get your friends out the road too, before anybody else sees,” Goliath spoke up, before following Camille as she went back to the caravan.

“One for you too, big guy,” she handed Goliath a piece of candy.

“If you insist,” he popped the candy in his mouth, sucking on it as they walked back. Beaumont was right…this tasted pretty good. He could taste honey for sweetener and a type of berry he wasn’t familiar with. Since this was essentially a healing potion, maybe it used the same berries used to make healing potions, since it was made to taste good and didn't have that herbal medicinal flavor.

He felt bad being used to this already. This woman’s been giving them good food for the brief day and a half they’ve been on the road together. He was going to miss it once this job was over.

“You too, Pierce,” Camille walked over and handed him a candy the same as the rest.

“I think I’m feeling a bit weak,” Sage tried to look more tired and hurt, despite having no external injuries. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to take one unless you feed it to-“ Pierce smacked the back of Sage’s head with his good hand after taking a bite out of the candy. He felt a weird, almost gross tingling sensation in his hand. He looked down and saw the wound closing up inch by inch, the bleeding stopping and just becoming a big scab where the arrow pierced him. It was mostly like it barely pierced his flesh. Once he saw it was closed completely, he spat the candy out back into a wrapper and pocketed it.

“Wow. Fast acting,” he said in amazement. “Wish we had those earlier.”

“We couldn’t afford the good stuff earlier,” Sage pointed out. “These aren’t being-“

“Deducted from your pay? No, anything I give you here won’t be unless I explicitly say so,” Camille answered. “And you guys did a great job protecting everything here. Nothing’s out of place, nothing’s damaged. That’s pretty good for having to dispatch so many fellas! Proud of all of you!” Camille gave a very happy thumbs up to the group, a big happy go lucky grin on her face. Pierce just sighed, waved a hand in her direction, and went back into the caravan.

“Cmon, let’s let those guys gather their buddies from out the road,” he said. “Man that was annoying.” Camille seemed to be studying the way the group just…brushed off this interaction. She took a few looks at their faces, their postures, trying to find a hint of fear or anxiety, but she could barely find anything, at least from a glance. They were at worst annoyed, and Beaumont especially seemed cheerful. This seemed like hardly anything to them, just a minor setback.

“You guys seem used to this,” she said to Goliath. He was about to squeeze back in the caravan, but turned to look at her.

“It’s because we are,” he answered. “Those guys? Just as desperate as we are. Desperate people fight hard but they fight sloppy.”

“Desperate how?” Camille asked. “From the way you guys came to me, you need the gold for something. I wanna know what.” Goliath let out a deep, heavy sigh, but he didn’t seem very hesitant about answering.

“We’re in debt, with a dangerous man,” he said. “And because we were late on a few payments, if we don’t get this gold for the trip in less than a week, I’m pretty sure I’m gonna end up as a rug by that man’s fireplace.” Camille bit at her bottom lip. Oh…it was that serious. That means she had to come clean.

“So…about the money…” she muttered. “It’s not money I have to give to you by your deadline. It’s the average profit I plan to get from what we gather.” Profit? She didn’t have any physical money with her and was just going to rely on profits she may or may not receive? Their last job, and the gold wasn’t even guaranteed?? Goliath’s fists clenched, teeth grinding behind his lips, staring down at Camille with a silent anger and hatred towards her. They could very well be risking their lives for this, but the money is going to trickle down into their pockets instead of the wash of gold they were promised.

“Give me one damn good reason why I don’t lift this caravan off its wheels and steal everything inside, while you could hardly lift a finger to stop me,” he growled. “I’m sure everything in there is worth a pretty penny, could even get most of the 150 gold my group needs…!”

“We both need each other, badly,” Camille straightened her back out, trying hard to stare Goliath in the eyes despite their stark height difference. “I know you are putting your trust in a complete stranger, but once this is over, I want to talk to whoever you turn your money to.” Goliath didn’t want to falter at those words, but he knew better. Maybe Camille really could do something. It helped that Jetta was friendlier to women than men. His posture relaxed, and he let out a deep, heavy sigh.

“You can try. I can’t guarantee success, but you most certainly can try.”

“Once whoever you work for sees what I can make from this royal jelly, I’m sure they’ll be plenty convinced.” Camille started to climb back up to her bedroom, and Goliath just ran a hand through his hair and groaned in annoyance. Was she naive? Dull? She looked to be in her early, mid twenties at the oldest, and yet he was sure she had the optimism and morals of a nobleman’s child.

“This is the worst…let’s just hope nothing else goes wrong…” he muttered as he sat back in the caravan. The first story seemed to act as both a kitchen, an office space, and from the locked opening on the side, a mobile shop.

“What were you and Miss Caramello talking about?” Beaumont asked.

“We’re not getting paid in a lump sum…it’s my fault for not asking for further details about the payment…” Goliath’s head fell into his lap, both hands holding his head. Beaumont looked visibly upset by the news, but rested a hand on Goliath’s back.

“Is this my fault…?” he asked, with sincere guilt in his voice.

“It’s not, you did good…” Goliath sighed. “I just…I’m sorry. I don’t want any horrible fate to fall on any of us. This is our final straw. And it’s…it’s…”

“Let’s keep going, Goliath,” Beaumont said, a sad smile on his face. “None of us can stand each other, but we all rely on each other to stay alive. But…in the state we’re all in…some days I can barely call this living. I feel like a shambling zombie controlled by some evil force sometimes. Except I’m not being given direct orders, and I do have some sense of self preservation.”

“Not from the way I see you fight sometimes,” Goliath mustered a chuckle. “I mean, our last job we took you did get possessed. And man, did you have some hidden strength that ghost just pulled out of you while trying to kill us!”

“That wasn’t strength bozo! Ghosts don’t care about the physical limitations of the human body by a certain point. I was just a meat puppet.” Beaumont leaned against Goliath’s shoulder, one hand reaching out to place atop Goliath’s.

“Listen, I just have a gut feeling. I think we should just listen to the pretty magic lady and do this. If Don Henbane’s any smart he could see what we collected and figure out the value. Yes he would yell at us for not using a middleman for all this but better berated than dead.”

“Yeah…maybe I was a bit too harsh with her.”

“Don’t say that till we’re actually done. And if you still think that way then uh…I guess say sorry. Don’t see why you gotta, though.” Goliath could feel the caravan start to move again, and with a heavy, tired, somber smile, he wrapped an arm around Beaumont and pulled him in for a half-hug.

“I wish I liked you more than I do now. Cause you’re a pretty amusing little guy.”

“I wish I liked you more too, big man!”

Goliath’s grin got even bigger at that comment, he pulled from the hug, and just leaned in his seat. Yes he was probably far too heavy for the seat, and he might accidentally tip over, but It was nice to lean back and wait. This was just traveling from here on out. Goliath was just grateful for the fact that he didn’t have to stand on his own two feet constantly to get from point A to point B. He felt like keeping onto hope at this point might make him soft, but if the rest of the team was still going to be on board, he was happy to as well.

—

The trip all the way to Bounty Valley was Goliath’s favorite atmosphere as of late- Boring. Once the highwaymen were dispatched, the roads were mostly empty. The only truly out there activity was trying to push the caravan out the mud once the rain began on day 2. But It was actually quite comfortable. Camille kept cooking for the party, but she got everyone to help her with prep if needed, and she always handed the cleanup to Goliath’s group. Yes they were in a rush, but considering the speed of the mana tech caravan compared to a horse drawn carriage, nobody in the group seemed outwardly anxious about finally meeting their destination. These were less than ideal circumstances, but to eat, to have a nice warm place to stay even if it was cramped. To wake up to the bubbly smile and sing songy voice of a woman that could turn heads at a moment’s notice…it was all very nice to Goliath.

“Hey Sage…” Beaumont was sat next to Sage during his turn to pilot the caravan. “You’re good at identifying edible stuff in the wild, right?”

“Moderately good, it’s not my specialty,” he answered with his eyes fixed on the road.

“Are the fruits on those giant ass trees safe to eat?”

“Oh?” Sage looked up briefly. He saw them on the horizon first, but now they were getting closer and closer. They were right on the border of Bounty Valley, and the evidence of that was the very sparse, but very noticeable gigantic trees that towered above their more mundane forest counterparts. On these trees were extremely giant, dog sized at the largest, fruits and berries that hung on their tremendously sized branches.

“Beaumont, we’ve talked about this,” Sage sighed. “Most foragables in Bounty Valley are extremely edible. I will say though…since we’re on the path, I advise looking up on occasion. Having one of those fruits falling onto this caravan would be absolutely disastrous.”

“Well…if it falls near us, we get a pretty good snack,” Beaumont replied.

“Crushed, rotting fruit fallen on the forest floor? You know alcohol is hard to afford right now but I don’t think I’m that desperate yet.”

“Well when you word it like that it sounds fuckin stupid!”

“Because it is dear boy!”

“Stay sharp fellas!” Camille opened the window that led to the driver's seat. “We’re reaching Bounty Valley! If my guess is correct, we’ll be ending up in Honeydew Town and setting up shop there.”

“We’re getting there already eh?” Sage seemed surprised that they were getting there so fast. A week and a half would pass by if they traveled all on foot, probably longer depending on how things were. Carriage rides cost money after all.

“Home stretch y’all!” Beaumont cheered.

“Not yet!” Camille pointed out. “The home stretch is only after we reach that beehive and extract that royal jelly!” She looked back into the caravan to alert a few people, only to see that when her back was turned, Goliath made himself comfortable on the floor of the caravan with a pillow from her bed and was taking a nice, deep nap.

“Goliath?” She walked up to him, gently nudging him with her foot. Hmmm…maybe she should just wake him up later. There wasn’t any danger at the moment, plus he looked relaxed. And cute. Very cute. Camille sat on top of his stomach while he laid there and absolutely no reaction, no flinching came from him as she gently swung her feet while resting atop his rising and falling gut.

He must still be full from this morning. Hard to believe, but she saw a bit more of a shine in his skin. In fact everyone looked just a bit brighter after a few days of good food. What could happen once they’re even MORE well fed? She could see some shine, some luster of the men they once were. That made Camille smile ear to ear, and her heart flutter. With enough effort, enough drive, these men could be truly perfect warriors that she could keep on hiring for protection.

She felt a sudden jolt, Goliath stirring in his sleep, and she immediately leapt off of him and pretended to start to count inventory. In fact on her way to pretend to, she noticed something out of place in her snack drawer. She had a few small wrapped snack cakes for herself, but a handful was missing. Hmm…someone got to them…

“Ghh…ahh gods, did I fall asleep here again…?” Goliath groaned, trying to grab onto something for leverage to lift himself off the floor.

“Goliath, by chance were you in my snack drawers?” She turned to him.

“You had a snack drawer…?”

“Hm…no matter, we’re nearing the first town! So look sharp, big guy!” Camille gave him a pat on the back once Goliath was standing.

“This means we’re already halfway done with our journey! How does that feel?” Camille asked.

“I’m just ready to get this done with. I talked to the group about a plan to get you in without being detected by the hive.”

“Good, great! That means-!” THUD!! Something hit the top of the caravan.

“Did we get hit with falling fruit?” Camille asked.

“No…doesn’t smell like it,” Goliath sniffed the air. In fact, it smelled…rotten. Animal rot.

Beaumont hopped outside the second he heard the thud, and when he looked to the ground, he saw that a bee had landed on the caravan, bounced off, and fell to the ground.

Bees were just like fruit here in Bounty Valley. Big. This one was the size of a mountain dog, and very much dead. What was odd about it was the state of its body in death. It was covered in a bright blue fungus growing from most of its openings. Even its wings were heavily damaged from the mushrooms sprouting from its body. There was no way it could fly in this state at all.

“Ohhhh that doesn’t look good…” Beaumont frowned. “Hey guys, can you come look at this?”

“What’s the matter?” Camille stepped out of the caravan with Goliath, and stared down at the carcass of the bee. Camille’s face dropped immediately, and she started circling the diseased corpse.

“Change of plans,” she said. “We’re seeking out any nearby hives. Come on. Let’s do a detour out of town and just look for any large hives in the wild.”

“What’s going on?” Goliath asked her.

“I don’t know, but I think I might be able to help out. I just need you guys assisting me,” she said. “I’ll pay you more. Just please come help me out, I’ll even dip from my own savings.” Camille went to the front of the caravan, and motioned for Sage to get out from the driver's seat.

Camille took the lead and started booking the caravan as fast as she could. In fact so much so the group could feel it in the cart. Pierce and Beaumont were on the first floor, while Sage was on the second, and Goliath had climbed up onto the roof to keep watch for anything else out of order. So far…things didn’t look good. The plants were mostly fine. None of the fungus was on any trees, any foliage at all. But scattered in a few places on the tree tops or in the road were giant dead bees, covered in the same unnaturally blue fungus.

“What is this…?” Camille muttered to herself. Goliath looked up into the sky, and he saw a silhouette floating around in very stuttering, shaky motions. It looked like another bee, and even with its incredibly shaky directionless movements, it seemed to be trying its best to fly towards the caravan. Goliath tried to stand up despite the rapid pace of the caravan, watching the bee as close as he could.

Unfortunately, he didn’t realize just how quick he had to act. Because before he could act, he was tackled with a force he didn’t think an insect even of that size could muster. The force sent a loud THUD through the cart, making its shaky fast movements even shakier, and sent Goliath falling off the roof. It took a hard, heavy SLAM on the brakes to stop the caravan, and Camille immediately jumped off to try and help.

Goliath was on his back, trying to pull back the mandibles of a violently thrashing bee that was far, far stronger than its size indicated. It could pin Goliath no problem, and if it wasn’t for the powerhouse grip Goliath kept, he’d probably lose a limb or his damn head to this thing. But his grip was slipping fast.

“Damn bees…! God damn bees…!” He grunted, before reaching up, teeth bared as he ripped into a nice meaty chunk between the head and thorax of the bee. It more violently tried to attack, before finally Goliath roared in pain when he felt a deep, sharp stinging sensation in his side. He just bit down harder in response. He gripped down as hard as he could so that the struggling and violent thrashing could stop.

And it did. But it stopped with an explosion and bright blue viscera splattering all across his face.

“Goliath!” Sage ran towards him, having set off the final blow, and he rolled Goliath over on his side to check the damage.

“Fuck…fuck it’s like it’s burning…!” He grunted. Camille went back into her cabin and immediately pulled out two candies. The healing candy, and a purple colored cookie with a jam filled center.

“Goliath! Goliath!” She called out, running towards him. “How bad does it hurt??”

“Bad…!” He grunted. The stings from a bee of that size is nothing to scoff at, but what was worse was that, when Goliath looked down at the puncture wound, he saw the same eerie blue glow. But instead of it continuing to glow, it quickly began a sickly black color and made the wound burn even hotter and worse, like someone injected him then and there with acid.

“It’s okay! It’s okay Goliath!” Camille gently placed the red candy in his mouth, to which he swallowed it whole and watched the wound close up. The burning pain however, lingered.

“Fuck!! Fuck fuck that hurts bad!” He groaned.

“Here, this should help too,” Camille broke the cookie in half and fed it to him, to which he just laid there and focused on chewing. This flavor he wasn’t sure he recognized. Sweet potato maybe? And the filling. It tasted a bit like elderberry but he wasn’t totally sure. Maybe his tastes were dulled trying to keep the pain in check. Actually…he couldn’t feel that awful burning sensation for much longer. Once he swallowed, he sat back up with a heavy sigh, checking where the wound used to be, patting it down and slowly rubbing it.

“Goliath, you’re going to have to be watched,” Camille said. “I don’t recognize that fungus, who knows what it could do in the body of a human.”

“First off, I’m not completely human, second off-“

“This seems way above our pay grade,” Pierce approached the group with Beaumont. “Where are you taking us?”

“I promise I know as much about this as you do,” Camille said. “I have to find a hive and figure out the issue.”

“Pierce, we can’t afford to back down,” Goliath stood back up, trying to wipe his face clean from bright blue bee brain matter. “And if this is serious, someone’s going to have to do something anyway. I’m fine now but someone could very well be killed on these roads.”

“Acting like a hero since money’s involved eh?” Pierce spat. “Fine. You’re right. People could be in danger.”

Camille tried her best to steady herself, and once the cart was back on the road, she slowed down but still kept on driving at a fast enough pace to get them to the nearest hive. She knew she was close when the paths faded into grass and stone, and the pathways grew narrow as the trees got thicker. Not to mention she could see even more bees covered in fungus acting odd. Some were already dead and hanging in trees, others were having violent spasms, eating animal carcasses, or were trying to follow the cart, but their movements were a lot more erratic and they couldn’t fly properly. Camille could see the carnage and she could feel tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. This was awful…she’s seen parasites going after these bees but nothing this severe at such a large scale.

Her sadness twisted into absolute horror when she found the closest hive. Beehives were large to accommodate for the size of bees in Bounty Valley. Entire swaths of forests were dedicated to just hives, as the trees were twisted and morphed to become nests and foundations for the hives that were so big and sprawling that they might be the size of entire villages, and twice as tall as them since they could reach up far far into the trees. This one though. It was covered in blue.

Camille expected to see a slew of bees flying to and fro at a constant rate to pollinate or tend to larva or look after the queen. All that energy was instead spent on the few healthy ones trying to pin down the sick and violent so they could pull off the fungus that was infesting them. Or at worse taking the dead and escorting them somewhere far to bury.

Usually bees are territorial and would’ve tried to crowd around the cart to check if it was dangerous. These bees however, were too busy and occupied with the sick to even pay attention to the group.

“What’s happening here…?” Sage whispered to Camille in shock. She looked at him briefly but didn’t respond. He had his eyes on the fungus, it felt very familiar to him, but he had no idea as to why. When he was inside the cart, he kept on observing Goliath to see if anything weird would happen to him, but Goliath seemed mostly fine, and Sage could smell something different on him. It was a similar spell that certain wizards would emit when they used up all the mana stored up in their body and were running on fumes. A mixture of musk and cigar smoke.

“Camille, I’m going to take a sample,” Sage hopped off the cart and started approaching a deceased bee.

“Sage what are you doing?” She asked. “We don’t know what this is…!”

“I have a hunch.” Sage knelt beside the corpse, pulling a mushroom free from its infested host. He gave it a sniff, before taking a very slow bite from it. He instantly felt a SHARP surge of magic flooding his system. Just body visibly flinched and he shot back up standing.

“Woo! Oh good heavens!” He exclaimed. “These are full of mana!”

“Did you just eat one?” Camille asked incredulously. “You don’t know what’s in that!”

“Except I do! These are mana spores. Harmless in smaller doses, but this specific strain seems to be very violently spreading in arthropod bodies. I haven’t seen any other animals affected by this so far, but it looks like these specifically spread by using the bodies of…” Sage paused. He heard someone else not far from him. Quickly looking up, he saw a strange blue hat hidden behind some trees that quickly ducked away.

“Hm…” he stood up, holding his bag of marbles at his hip, walking in the direction of the blue capped individual he saw. Once his back was turned, Camille took a look at the corpse he had turned his back to. It started to move and shift as it slowly jolted back to life, and once Camille realized, she stood up from her seat and reached under her skirt to grab the knife she kept in a hidden pocket.

“Everyone inside! Stay sharp!” She called out, trying to sound authoritative despite her shaking voice. Goliath and Beaumont immediately stepped out of the caravan, weapons drawn, with Pierce in the cart sitting with his guitar out, fingers on the strings.

Camille could see the bee rise to life, and though wingless, still had its stinger. Immediately she jumped onto it, her knife immediately digging between the neck and thorax.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry…!” She muttered to the zombie-like bee as it fell back down, dead once again. “Sage, what are you doing?”

“I saw someone!” He called out. “Someone else is here…!”

“Oh??” Beaumont quickly approached Sage, with an excited grin on his face. “Let’s go get em! Maybe they’re friendly, if not we can-“ he was cut off when out of nowhere, a set of four more agile infected bees dropped down onto both him and Sage, holding them down with an uncharacteristic amount of strength. But neither had the bulk of Goliath, and since there were more, only Beaumont could get in one good stab with his sword before he could feel the rush of something hot penetrate his skin and get into his bloodstream.

“Beaumont! Beaumont hold on!” Sage grabbed Beaumont’s hand when he could feel him writhing and struggling with the pain. He closed his eyes, keeping a tight grip on Beaumont as both began to glow bright white hot. Camille was about to act and defend them both, but she saw the way they began glowing, and immediately began taking steps back.

“Sage- Beaumont…!” Pierce was about to step out, but when he saw Camille run another direction, he looked on, and didn’t even have the privilege to blink before being suddenly blinded by a bright, white radius of light that left everyone in the vicinity with a ringing sensation in their ears. Beaumont and Sage were fine. In fact able to stand up after the sudden barrage. All because everyone and everything around them was completely stunned. The bee corpses fell back dead on the ground, several bees who weren’t even near them stopped in the air and began dropping, and Camille, Pierce, and Goliath all fell to the ground stiff and barely able to move.

“Sage- you- you fuckin bastard…!” Goliath tried to reach for his maul that flew from his hands, but all the muscles in his body were completely unable to move. Even talking was the hardest task for him.

“I had to let out the mana being injected into myself and Beaumont,” Sage took a deep breath, keeping himself steady on a slightly shaky Beaumont. “I’m fine as a magic user but anybody here who doesn’t practice magic or have any innate in them could easily die of an overdose on mana if they get stung.”

“So that’s- that’s what I got injected with…” Goliath mustered out through gritted teeth and strained mouth movements.

“What?! You guys should’ve been dead and oozing from every hole you got!” That wasn’t any of their voices. Beaumont turned his head, and as he did, he saw what might be the culprit to all of this. A bright blue cap, a blue staff fashioned out of the stalk of a mushroom, and a darker blue cape that obscured most of their features from the way it was buttoned up.

“Hey! Uhh…is this your doing?” Beaumont pointed to the stunned, now dead infected bees laying on its side.

“I don’t have to tell you all a single thing! So either die or pretend you didn’t see a thing!”

“There’s towns not far from here…” Goliath was the first person to just barely start shaking off being stunned, and was starting to stand up on his own. “People are gonna find out either way.”

“Oh I’ll basically be done with what I need to do by then!” The blue capped wizard said with glee in their voice. “These dead bees are just a setback! The queen can always make more!”

“The-the queen…?” Camille laid there, but Goliath gently picked her up in his arms. “Where’s the queen?!”

“You all talk too much,” the wizard tapped their staff twice onto the ground. Every single surface, every bee, everything that had the color blue growing on it began glowing bright. The infected bees began springing up one by one, struggling past the stunned effect, able to stretch their limbs and move their bodies.

“Oh no no you don’t!” Sage flicked a marble into the air, and it shot out a sharp bolt of magic. That unfortunately fizzled into nothing the second it even got close to the blue capped wizard.

“Yeah. Not gonna happen,” they said, waggling their finger in Sage’s direction. Another tap of the staff, and every single infected bee raised to attention. They moved stiff, unnatural, like puppets being yanked around by a string. One by one they stood to attention, and the group all backed against each other, watching as the half dead swarm rose and surrounded them. Sick, infected, contagious to the hive, all puppeted by a madman with a fungal staff.

“One last chance folks~!” The blue capped wizard said with a gleefully sadistic tone in their voice. “You can blast off spells all you want to, but you’ll be so full of mana you’ll bleed it out of your eye sockets!”

“Camille, we need to cut our losses and get the fuck out of here,” Pierce hissed. “This guy’s gonna kill us…!”

“Can you please just…trust me?” Camille looked up at him, brows furrowed and her lips pursed like she was about to cry.

“Pierce, I’m so sorry. I should listen to you more, but for now, let’s finish this job. This won’t kill us, I’ll be sure of it,” Goliath placed one hand on Pierce’s shoulder, who looked up at Goliath, hesitation still plastered all across his face. But he just nodded, hands on the string of his guitar.

“We’re not leaving this world today, not cause of some nasty ass bugs,” Beaumont puffed his chest out and held his sword up. “This ain’t our first, or worst run in with a weirdo like you!” The blue capped wizard’s chest rose and fell, like they were exhaling a frustrated sigh, but their staff raised in the air, glowing a bright blue hue. The forest was silent, these dead bees didn’t hum, didn’t make any noises and just stared completely still at their targets, ready to pounce at any second.

“Ladies, kill them.”

With that command, like a tidal wave of a similar hue, the bees rush the group, surrounding them and piling on them in droves of what seemed like hundreds, stacking on one another and trying to squeeze into whatever crevice they could with the sole command of trying to reach these intruders to sting enough of a surface area of their body that they were more festering wound than person.

Inside of the horrible, swarming pile though, Pierce was strumming his guitar knowing damn well if he stopped it could kill the entire group. A fast paced, frantic melody that would only play for the stage play of a man delving into madness. A shield had surrounded everyone, tight but safe. Sage had at least one hand on Pierce while he played, the other grabbing a new marble from his pouch.

“Everyone hold onto me, Pierce listen to me carefully! On the count of five, you lower the shields and I’ll take care of things!”

“You got it…!” Pierce tried to yell over his guitar.

“Five…four…three…two…” Sage could feel his hands breaking into a sweat, he could drop the marble at any second if he didn’t focus, but the determination on Goliath’s face, Beaumont’s eagerness to enter the fight, and Camille holding onto him for dear life, trembling with tears stinging her eyes, and he knew he could not mess this up for anybody in this group.

“ONE!!!”

Shields went down, the bees felt safe enough to swarm. The blue capped wizard thought the group was well and truly dead from how they were surrounded on all sides with no escape. But they could feel their hair start to stand up on its own, heard a crackling in the air, and very quickly moved their head out the way to avoid a blast of lightning centered entirely in that swarming mass of bees. Behind them, a piece of the hive was a smoldering black, and in front of them the bees were practically burned to ashes and dried husks as they received powerful shock after powerful shock. It all acted quick, but when the lightning dissipated, the group stood, unharmed and itching for a fight. Some of the bees were just charred ashes, but others were simply blackened dried husks, and those still had life in them.

The mushrooms began to glow all over again to light their black bodies up blue, and they kept on with their singular goal of killing the group.

Beaumont acted first. In one clean swoop of the blade, he didn’t even have to look to know that he cleaved the heads clean off several infected bees. The group were well surrounded, but Beaumont was fast and Sage’s sudden electrical assault gave him the room to start bobbing and weaving any bee that came at him. Approach him too close in the front and he takes their head with a clean finish. Approach him too close from behind and he whips around with that same speed and precision to decapitate his attacker.

Goliath though, his approach was much less elegant. He was climbed on, grabbed, and they kept trying to bite and sting at him, but with strength, bulk, and pure adrenaline on his side, half of his attacks were with his maul, and the other were him using his bare hands to grab anything that clung to him and tearing them apart like they were made out of wet paper. He could feel them grabbing him to sting him, he could feel the same pain that earlier incapacitated him, and every time he felt a sting, it only made his roaring louder and his swings of the maul more violent and heavy. No resting or letting the pain settle in until the group was safe, he had to endure till this was all over.

Pierce could stop strumming his guitar, holding it now like the axe it was also built to be. He didn’t have the power of Goliath, or the precision of Beaumont, but he was still a fighter, and could still give one big powerful swing of an axe to sloppily cleave a pair in two. After a swing, he was going to reach down and hold onto Camille to protect her, but when he tried to grab her, he grabbed onto absolutely nothing.

“Camille? Miss Caramello?” He called out. “Sage, where’s Camille??”

“I thought she was following me…!” Sage had kept one marble in his fingers held up to continue using it to blast lightning bolts at any bee trying to get close, and when he went to glance down behind him where he thought Camille was, she wasn’t there either. Their employer wasn’t on the battlefield. Or she still was, and now was in horrible, horrible danger.

“Camille?? CAMILLE!!!” Goliath roared out, sweat beading down his brow that was glowing a faint blue as it trickled down his cheek into his beard. She was gone! Completely out of sight, to everyone.

Including the blue capped wizard.

They had a good enough eye on the group even during the carnage of bees dropping to their valiant fighting. They thought they could tire out the group with wave upon wave of infected bees, eventually killing them from exhaustion, but now they realized they lost sight of one member. She didn’t seem dangerous, so they assumed she was well beyond dead and being carried off by their infected hive.

“Hello~!”

Huh? Why was she so close?

The blue capped wizard turned around, holding their staff up defensively, but nothing was behind them. That voice…it was her wasn’t it? They were about to turn back, but before they could even think about focusing back on the group, small but very cold hands grasped their neck. It wasn’t to squeeze down and choke them. In fact it was much worse

They could feel the skin around their neck grow cold and dry. Their hands grew shaky, their throat felt dry, they could feel the blood in their veins begin to freeze up and dry out. It hurt, hurt in such a horrific unique way, and yet the blue capped wizard couldn’t express the pain by screaming.

“Shhh…shhh…I’m not going to kill you…” a sugary sweet voice whispered into their ear, soft hands still resting on their throat, sucking the life from them. It was Camille, and although she was smiling, it wasn’t comforting. It was cruel, vindictive, vengeful. Her beautiful dark brown eyes were instead glowing a very sickly shade of pink. She could taste the life essence she was draining from the wizard. It tastes earthy, savory, and just a bit rotten. The wizard could only tremble in weakness in pain, trying to stare back at Camille, trying to say something to her even though their voice felt dried up and their vocal cords felt as dry and brittle as a stale slice of cake.

When the staff dropped, Camille let go, and grabbed The staff from off the floor. The wizard tried to reach for it before she could, but she just kicked them to the side, and grabbed it for herself.

“Toying with nature like this, do you get a kick out of it?” She held the staff from both ends, bending it with all her might. It wasn’t as sturdy as she thought it was, so one hard pull, one hard snap, and it splintered and broke, the blue magic it once had now fading the second it was split apart.

With the staff snapped, the magic could diminish. The bright blue fungus all across the hive, the bees, currently being stung into The group despite their best efforts to avoid being an overly concentrated sponge of mana. All of it became a much more dull brownish-blue hue. The deceased, the diseased, every bee infected by the fungus began to fall, now no longer able to come back from their horrible resurrection.

It was over. Everyone was alive.

“We did it!”

Camille tried her best to prop up the now unconscious wizard to show off her victory. But since she didn’t have the strength to lift a person, just sort of began stumbling when she held them.

“Is that guy dead?” Beaumont called out from their pretty far distance from one another.

“No! But I broke their staff!” Camille accidentally dropped the wizard, their hat falling off to reveal the face underneath. A pale man, possibly in his early to late 30s, with hollow, sunken cheeks with blonde hair more the color of rotting straw over fresh, golden straw. He had a pair of bright blue goggles over his eyes, and the tips of his thin, stringy hair were stained a similar bright blue hue as the mushrooms.

“I’m going to go find the queen! You guys pick some of the mushrooms while I’m gone!”

“Wait! Wait wait wait you need someone to escort you!” Goliath tried running after her, but stopped when he had to double over on his knees, feeling an absolutely horrible, rumbling movement in his gut.

“Oh god I’m gonna throw up…!” He groaned.

“Aw shit not again Captain!” Beaumont immediately went to Goliath’s side to help him. Pierce just rolled his eyes and followed Camille wherever she was going.

“Hey miss!” Pierce ran after her, who had stopped in her tracks before she went too far.

“Hi Pierce!” She waved. “I can’t thank you all enough! This could’ve become a really bad problem if we hadn’t stepped in when we did.”

“Yeah…yeah I guess you’re right…” Pierce rubbed the back of his neck. “But you dealt the final blow. We just-“

“You guys gave me an opening. That’s important in an encounter like that. Because of this, I actually want to ask you guys something. But only once this is over and I pay you guys.”

“Hm, fine, but please don’t do shit like that if you’re not going to warn someone.” There was one hive that wasn’t infested with blue spores. In the center of it all, bigger, brighter, and packed with the remaining survivors of the hive, was where the queen resided.

“Are you sure we should be here…?” Pierce flinched when several bees flew up to them. These weren’t infected. Fully healthy, fully alive, and just trying to assess the both of them.

Camille started to move her feet, lifting her skirt up a bit to show more of her legs so her movements were more clear to the bees. She walked around in a circle, in a way where every other step she wiggled her foot. The bees looked at that, and immediately grabbed her by the scruff of her shirt collar to fly off with her.

“Wh-where the fuck are you taking-!!” Pierce was soon grabbed too, though it took more bees to pick him up and carry him off.

“They’re taking us to the queen!” Camille exclaimed with glee.

“What were you doing there with your feet??” Pierce asked.

“So you know how bees do little wiggle dances to tell colonies about the distance and direction of flowers?”

“I don’t!”

“Well big bees like this have their own language adapted from that! I know just enough to communicate with them comfortably!” If she knew their language, then why was the plan to sneak into this hive for royal jelly??

They were flown into an opening in the hive, and gently dropped on the floor. The inside of the hive was packed full of bees seeking refuge, with many holding slings filled with larval eggs. Resting on a very plush looking bed of more solid, gelatinized honey was the queen, whose only indication of being queen was the sheer size of her in comparison to the others. While the other bees were no bigger than a large dog, she was the size of a horse, with almost the grace of one when she sat up from her resting spot to approach the two of them.

Camille stood up, giving the queen a bow, while Pierce just looked on in shock and amazement. This woman…she was an oddball.

The queen began a similar dance of wiggling and moving around on the floor, and Camille followed behind her. Their bodies were telling a conversation over any voice, the queen’s movements at first seemed more aggressive and erratic, but ended up turning gentle, getting close to Camille so she could rub her face with her mandibles.

“Awww thank you your majesty!” Camille giggled, while Pierce just had a look of disgust, but also curiosity on his face. Camille smiled, then turned to look at Pierce with a look of triumph in her lovely, radiant smile.

“Ready to see our prize?”

The queen bee ordered a few male drones to escort the two of them behind the throne room. There was a small opening only big enough for the bees to come in and out of. Camille had to duck, and Pierce just gave up and crawled on all fours leading into the room. There was a big, warm vat of what looked like a pale yellow liquid, swirling around like there was a heat source constantly keeping it at a still warm temperature. It smelled sweet, but the sweetness was a lot more subtle and subdued than the powerful sweetness of honey.

“Most bees don’t store this, but bounty valley bees do,” Camille said. “It’s given to the larvae and the queen herself. She was going to deny my request initially, but since I told her the man responsible for her hive’s infection was taken care of, this is a gift from her to us.” Camille went into the bag on her hip, and pulled out a sizable jar and spoon. She slowly scooped in the sweet viscous liquid, and though it was messy from the way some of it dripped down the jar and her hands, it was filled with the beautiful pale golden jelly.

“This made a bit of a mess, here.” Camille handed the jar over to Pierce.

“If it made a mess, why are you giving it to me?” He sneered.

“I’m giving you the first licks of this. Cmon, try some! I promise it’ll be worth it!” Pierce sighed, but grabbed the jar, and since they didn’t exactly have a handkerchief to wipe this off with, he ran his tongue across the jar, lapping up the beads rolling down the jar. Once a drop hit his tongue, once that taste fully reached his brain and swam through his mind, he understood now why she needed mercenaries to retrieve this wonderful ambrosia.

The sweetness of honey, the creaminess of milk, with a very subtle floral scent when his nose pressed against the glass. It wasn’t as sticky as honey, and because it was kept warm, it left a comforting sensation as it slid down his throat. This was wonderful, beautiful. It tasted so different from many things he’s had in the past. In his haze of licking the outside of the jar clean, he almost felt mesmerized by the flavor. He was a fool, a fool for trying to deny helping Camille this entire time. Because now he could literally taste the fruits of their labor. Their reward for a job well done.

Pierce only stopped when Camille tapped him on the shoulder, motioning for them to leave. He came back to his senses quick, wiping the rest of the jar off on his clothes before handing it back to Camille.

“Thank you Pierce,” she smiled. She wasn’t just thanking him for the jar. It was a thanks for helping her, a thanks for bringing her here, and a thanks for trusting her.

The two were led out the hive, dropped right out of the entrance to go back to the rest of the group. Sage had tied up their wizard, particularly taking care of keeping his hands balled together tight and his mouth gagged. Beaumont was letting Goliath rest on the side of the cart and funnily enough, was wearing the blue wizard’s hat and goggles.

“Beaumont, take those off,” Pierce groaned.

“He tried to kill us, I think this is a fair trade,” he huffed. “I look good in blue after all.”

“Considering this was an act of bioterrorism, I believe we can turn this man into the nearest town.”

“You think we’ll get money from it…?” Goliath groaned, still feeling sick despite expelling a barrage of blue liquid from his gut into the bushes.

“Probably not likely, since the villages around here are higher in vegetation than coins, we would probably be given some fresh produce or meat,” Camille answered. “But it’s still worth a try to turn him in. Let’s get back on the road towards Honeydew Town.”

—-

Back on the road, the blue capped wizard eventually came back into consciousness while Sage was keeping watch over him. He had collected a fairly large bundle of the mana shrooms, because although the magic in them had faded significantly, they could still be used to make potions. Or better yet, be cooked in a pan with some butter for a nice meal with rice.

“Are you awake?” Sage asked. The blue capped wizard tried to say something, but all he could muffle out were yells of protest.

“I think I know what you were trying to do,” Sage continued. “I almost applaud it. You wanted those bees as hosts to carry those mana spores so they’d spread rapidly around Bounty Valley and grow into large, plentiful resources of mana. As a fellow wizard I think that’s wonderful, but this was incredibly sloppy, violent work.” He idly played with a marble on the desk, this one was duller in color, having temporarily lost its magic.

“Do you have a book on you with your studies?” Sage asked. The wizard stopped struggling, and just nodded his head down to a pocket on his pants. Sage went to grab it. A small, slightly moldy book, with sloppy handwriting inside, but it was still at least a bit legible.

“I’ll let you have this back, but I might copy some of this down,” he said. “You don’t mind do you? Actually oh wait, I’m not sure I care.”

“Why are you copying that guy’s work down?” Beaumont asked. “Wouldn’t that you know…be bad to learn?”

“No magic is inherently bad. It’s just a matter of how you practice it,” he said. “Although his methods are flawed, I can have discussions about this with any number of wizards to improve upon these notes.” He was writing whatever he could down on a piece of parchment, when his hands grew shaky after hearing another one of Goliath’s loud, labored moans of agony from the second story.

“Oh my god you mana-deprived poor souls can’t handle one small overdose of mana without acting the way he is!” Sage groaned. “When is he gonna stop?!”

“Probably when the big baby stops needing tea and belly rubs from Miss Caramello,” Beaumont snickered.

Up on the second floor, Goliath was in Camille’s bed that was far, far too small for him while she was rubbing his stomach, her hand glowing a faint peach all across his gurgling, groaning, upset stomach.

“That’s just extra mana don’t worry!” Camille rested her head on his stomach. “You’ll feel better once the tea settles in!”

“C-Camille…can I ask you something…?” Goliath groaned, his hand sprawled over his face.

“Yes?” She turned to him, taking her hands off his groaning gut.

“You told everyone about the payment arrangement…right?” Camille sighed. She did, the second they all got comfortable. Pierce was visibly upset with her, but every time she uttered the words “trust me” with the group, she proved herself. So he was going to put his trust in her hands one final time.

“I did. They’re not happy with me, but when’s the deadline for the payment?”

“I think we have two days left…”

“Then a day from now, I’m going to use what I got to make the best damn thing your debt collecting friend could ever want. I’ll collect supplies from Honeydew, and get to work.”

She left the second floor, despite the cart still actively traveling, and kept her balance steady to crawl her way to the front where Pierce was driving. He was actually doing a fair better job than Sage was, and was focused on the road.

“Hey Pierce! Do you want to switch yet?”

“No, I saw the town’s lights. We’re not far.”

It was sunset in the lovely small town of Honeydew. Because of the natural produce growing in every tree, bush, and even on some animals, there weren’t farmers. Just foragers and the like who work to maintain the forest and keep it healthy so it can continue to grow plentiful fruits. Today was a rest day, most were inside cooking or preserving food. One of the few people out on the streets was a town guard. Not one sent by the king like many other villages, but ones that volunteer to do guard work in shifts. A shaggy brown haired man with a tan from days out in the sun working and a modified scythe for both work and combat.

He thought today would continue to be a slow day, until he heard the heavy, fast paced wheels of the group’s caravan. He saw it from a distance, then it was going at speeds faster than any regular carriage ought to. He immediately stepped out of its way once it got too close. Once he locked eyes with Pierce, the driver, Beaumont kicked the blue capped wizard out of the caravan and at the guard’s feet.

“So uh…where’s the bounty office?”

—-

Camille was right. The group wasn’t rewarded with gold for this man’s capture, but the caravan was now packed so full on the second floor with fruits and vegetables and grains and breads and booze and meat that everyone had to squeeze into the second story just to travel. Save for Sage, he found an excuse to be in the driver's seat with Camille to rest on.

“Yes!! Booze!” Goliath cheered, chugging from a big bottle of rum. “Oh how I missed ya love!”

“God slow down captain,” Beaumont had been snacking on a wheel of cheese and loaf of bread while laying down. “You’re gonna make yourself sick again.”

“This stuff! It’s practically like I’m drinking warm milk!” He chuckled. “Sweet sweet fermented nectar! Thank you citizens of Honeydew for your generous donation!”

“God please keep it down, I’m exhausted after all of this…!” Pierce just had a snack cake he “borrowed” from Camille to munch on.

“Where’s your celebrating spirit Pierce!” Goliath leaned back to try and savor the last few drops at the bottom of the bottle. “All this food, a job well done! I could kiss that wonderful woman down there for giving us all of this! Kiss every part of her until not an inch is left untouched by me!” Oh no, this probably wasn’t his first bottle.

“Shh!! Shhh captain she can fuckin hear you!” Pierce covered Goliath’s mouth. “And we still have to worry about the payment!”

“Yeah yeah she said she’ll take care of it! Just relax ya fuckin paperweight of a man!” Goliath took Pierce’s hand off his mouth and handed him the empty bottle.

“Cmon! Just relax and have fun!”

“Are they usually like this, Sage?” Camille could hear the commotion from the driver's seat. Sage was already nodding off to bed, but he lifted his head at her question.

“Only when there’s alcohol. They’re idiots but well meaning idiots.”

“Alright then, goodnight Sage, I’ll keep watch,” Camille patted him to let him go back to sleep. She wasn’t very tired. In fact after the way she drained part of that wizard’s life essence, she felt a bit too awake.

She let the caravan go nice and quiet in the night, letting the commotion die as the group rested. Everything was peaceful, the moon was out nice and bright and the stars lit their path on the way back to the city of Mortaria. Camille was going to keep watch with a nice hot cup of tea. She felt like it was going to be a peaceful night. There was even an adorable little black cat that approached the caravan, eyes glowing in the dark.

“Oh hey there! Aren’t you adorable!” Camille smiled and knelt down by the cat. “Do you want a little snackie? I got some dried fish in the cart!”

“Unless it’s tuna or marlin, don’t bother,” the cat replied in a smooth, buttery deep female voice. In a puff of smoke, that black kitty was the sneaky, coy, smirking Jetta. She was a bit taller than Camille, and had her pressed to the wall, her clawed hands pressed against the caravan.

“Glad I got to see you up close. I hope the group knows they’re absolute idiots for taking a job that doesn’t turn in the money so soon~!” She purred.

“Are you the debt collector?” Camille asked.

“Yes, yes I am~! And are you miss Caramello?”

“Have you been following us?”

“No, not exactly,” Jetta pulled her hands off the cart and took a couple of slow, sultry steps back. “I have eyes and ears in quite a few places. I didn’t need to trail far behind, I just needed an informant to see to it these boys' progress. You plan on shouldering their debt, eh?” She leaned in closely, face inches from Camille’s with a wicked grin spread across her face.

“How do you plan to do that, beautiful?”

“Well miss uh…”

“Call me Jetta.”

“Well miss Jetta, I didn’t expect to see you here so soon. I have something I can make that I’m sure your boss will think is worth the money they owe him. But since you came at such short notice, you’re going to have to watch me make it.” Jetta’s grin faltered, and she stepped back with a confused expression on her face.

“I’ll have to watch you cook? What could you possibly make worth 150 gold?”

“Well…wanna help me set up?”

“Do I look like a servant? Absolutely not!”

“Suit yourself then!” Camille went back into the caravan, trying to find all the equipment she needed amongst the piles and piles of produce. A pot, some wood, oil, and all the ingredients needed for some delicious fried dough filled and drizzled with royal jelly. Jetta just sat and watched. Camille was kind enough to even show Jetta the ingredients as she cooked them, and was being as open and transparent as she could be so that she didn’t look like she was trying to make anything poisoned.

“Is that yellow stuff honey?” Jetta pointed to the jar of royal jelly Camille brought out.

“In a way,” she shrugged. “Better than that! In fact, when cooked this could have some lovely magical properties to it! I’m making it for cooking’s sake, but if I were to say, condense it with a few herbs, maybe some cinnamon for flavor, this could make for the component of a growth potion! Or a uh, fertility potion if you get some of the steps wrong…”

“I don’t get all that mumbo jumbo potion nonsense. And don’t try to explain it to me. I’ll tell my dad you gave me a headache and he’ll have you served for dessert since you look all sugary and shit.”

“Gotcha covered missy!” Camille got to work. She made a nice fluffy dough mixed with royal jelly, that she shaped into small balls to let sit under a cloth.

“Now we wait!”

“Wait for what?”

“The dough to rise.”

“How long is that gonna take?”

“I made it nice and moist, so it should take less than an hour.” At that, Jetta groaned in annoyance and turned back into her black cat form.

“Wake me up when it’s done!” It didn’t take long for Jetta to fall asleep, and Camille couldn’t help but smile at Jetta’s adorable sleeping figure as a cat. She gently ran a hand across Jetta’s back, and the sleeping cat woman purred in delight as she rested.

Camille turned an hourglass upside down to wait, and just kept watch and occasionally pet Jetta while the dough rose.

In fact, Camille didn’t even need to wake Jetta. Jetta yawned and stretched out when she smelled something absolutely delicious and sweet being fried.

“Mmm…is it almost done already?” She yawned.

“It’s not almost done, it is done!” Camille had wrapped up a dozen round fried doughnut balls slathered in royal jelly in a pretty little box for Jetta. She turned back into her human form to look down into the box and was surprised by just how pretty they were. But pretty, and great smelling, didn’t exactly mean great tasting.

“So this is going to stand in for the 150 gold the boys owe?” She raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been around the block. Dealt with a lotta broke idiots trying to offer up stuff they thought was worth their debt. If these pastries are anything but godly, you’re getting it too, got it missy?”

“I’m very aware,” she nodded, closing the box and wrapping it tightly with a ribbon. “I’ve said it before to the fellas and I’ll say it to you. I want you to trust me.”

“Trust is a privilege. Not a right.”

“I know~!” Jetta rolled her eyes, putting the box in a magic pouch on her hip. Yeah right. Jetta figured she might as well. It was either this or her father teaching her the ins and outs of filing estimates for the debtors he has. And no way in hell was she sitting around for that.

“See you again soon ya weirdo,” Jetta turned back into her cat form, looking back at Camille once more before leaping into the trees out of sight.

“Hey…is it morning already…?” Sage had just woken up and walked over to the fire pit Camille set up “I smelled something cooking over here…”

“Oh not yet, I was just having a snack! Care to help me clean up?”

—-

Jetta didn’t like being stationary. She couldn’t do what her father does and sit in a big expensive chair all day giving orders to a bunch of dumb mooks. She wanted to be his messenger, his informant. His eyes and ears around every inch of land populated with suckers desperate enough to seek him out for monetary gain. Goliath, Beaumont, Sage, and Pierce however. They were her favorite desperate suckers. She enjoyed seeing men who she knew had amazing, affluent lives in the past fall from grace like a pigeon shot out the sky. It was amusing watching dumb people get dumb results, and these boys got the dumbest results of them all.

It took her a day to get back to Mortaria at the speed she went. She went by foot at first, then once she saw a carriage traveling back into town, hopped into the back when the driver didn’t notice and rode her way all the way back to the city. People in Mortaria knew one thing. The cats don’t get messed with. Ignore them, leave them to the wayside, but kick one or yell at them and you’ll be sent back to your family without a limb. Cats were dear to ole Jetta. Her second family away from Don Henbane.

“You’re telling me you didn’t bother to look at the deck before giving him MY money? I opened the box and could tell right away these are bootlegs!”

“I’m sorry sir, we’ve worked with him before, I didn’t think he’d stiff us like this!”

“Then find him before he leaves the city and bring him to me by tomorrow morning! If you don't, it'll be your head on a stick instead of his!”

Oh, sounded like Jetta’s father was at work. She sat on top of the building of a rather impressive sized stone manor, before taking a big leap down to the window Don Henbane kept open for her entrance. Think now he was nearly done yelling at some poor fool.

Near the window, pouring another party bowl sized glass of wine was Don Henbane’s butler, a nephew figure to him in a way, Sangio. He smiled seeing Jetta come in, gently patting the top of her head down to her back. He was a muscular handsome Casanova of a man who anybody would trample their loved ones over at a chance to kiss. Dark skin, beautiful black curls that almost appeared purple when the light shone on them just right, and a gorgeous chiseled jawline.

“Good evening my dear. How was today?” He smiled at her, dimples appearing right on the digits of his beautiful well defined cheeks.

“Boring, kinda!” She answered. “I got some stuff for daddy! Apparently it’s enough to pay back 150 gold worth of debt! I don’t buy it but let’s see what daddy says.”

“Oh I see, same old same old, let’s go see your father,” Sangio let Jetta climb on his shoulders, and with her in tow he went down the hall, towards the towering double doors of Don Henbane’s office. They had to be big, the doors were for a 10 foot tall man after all.

Without taking his hands off the tray, the door opened for Sangio, to the very well lit, opulent offices of possibly the wealthiest, most affluent, and dangerous man in Mortaria.

Don Afsaneh Henbane. Half beastman, as powerful as many other beastmen, but his sheer size and power were a result of his half manticore heritage specifically. He was a mountain of muscle and bulk, skin the hue and darkness of fresh and fertile soil, but with a mane of curls and dreadlocks the color of desert sand. Though his wings were tucked into his body, the span of those bright red monstrosities could block out the sun if he were to ever take flight. And though his size was deadly, and his strength was even deadlier, the real danger was the tail that swung back and forth. A dull red that left a gradient down to a bright, dangerous red to signify the white hot venom that was coursing all through his tail, ready to pounce at a moment's notice. Not tonight though, as he takes great care to leave the tip covered when he’s in safer settings. Much like his very office.

It was late at night, but that didn’t matter. That was the best time for Don to work. Though he didn’t always dress like he was working, as he didn’t even bother to put on much but a silk robe and kept his hair tied back. It was a gamble as to whether or not he actually wore something underneath the robe to begin with. He at first had a very stoic, cold expression plastered across his face, but that immediately brightened into a smile when he saw his two favorite people in the city.

“Oh Sangio! Jetta, my baby girl!” His voice was nice and deep, so deep you could feel it in your chest every time he spoke. He had the kind of tone that was extremely, extremely scary if you ever made him even a bit angry. Jetta immediately climbed up the desk and sat right on top of Henbane’s papers.

“How is my little baby girl doin? Work treating you well sweetheart~?” He very gently nuzzled her under her chin, before leaning down to give her a big loving kiss on the forehead, which pretty much engulfed her head every time he did this.

“It’s treating me great, daddy!” She purred into his massive, very warm hand. “I got something for ya! Something from one of your debtors! In fact, your favorite debtor!”

“You mean the large one? The one I lost a really bad bet on?” He asked.

“That’s the one!”

“He got the money back already? At least he’s hard working. I’d hate to skin such a promising man. Though…he’s pretty past his prime already.”

“Well…it’s not gold,” Jetta turned back into her human form, pulling the box from her pouch. “Some lady helping that group gave me this. She said it’s well worth 150 gold.”

“This better be good…” he huffed, opening the box to the still surprisingly very fresh dozen of royal jelly glazed donuts. They practically sparkled in the golden light of the office when the box was open.

Jetta looked to her boss, then to her father. She expected him to be angry. She expected him to bubble over and tell her to find the group and bring them back here. But instead he simply grabbed one out the box, sniffing it first to check if it was safe.

“Who baked these?”

“The lady who worked with them…Her name’s Camille.”

“Camille…don’t know any high class cooks with that name…” Henbane pondered. “Let’s see…” considering just how big he was, he could pop one doughnut in his mouth whole with no issue. If the sweet was poisoned to try and kill him, well this is the dumbest killer this side of Mortaria. But he didn’t taste poison. In fact, the sudden rush of taste the second he began chewing made his slit green eyes go wide, and he clenched his fists hard enough to make his veins bulge and his body shake.

“Uh…sir, is everything alright?” Sangio asked.

“Dad, what the hell was in those doughnuts???” Jetta asked with concern. He lifted up the entire box, and immediately plucked out each donut one by one. Not even leaving himself a chance to breathe he was too busy trying to scarf down the entire box. Well. Save for two. Even in his gluttonous reverie, he still stopped himself before the last two doughnuts were eaten.

“Try them. Both of you.” He demanded, licking the crumbs off his face and the glaze off his finger tips. Jetta took a surprised step back and cringed at the way her father ate. She hadn’t ever seen him become this ravenous, it made her worry about what was really in these. But if they were that good…

She grabbed the box from him and leapt down off the desk to hand Sangio a doughnut. Both of them took one look at the sweet treats they had before taking a bite out of them.

“Mm…mmm-!! Oh my goodness!!” Sangio gasped, staring in awe at what he just put in his mouth. “The last time I tasted something this good I was attending a summer solstice celebration at the castle!”

“Holy shit! Holy shit this is good…!” Jetta grinned. “She rushed to make these and yet they still turned out like this?? Mm, ohhh god yes!”

“Sangio! Start writing a letter! Jetta you get someone to deliver it, we need to find this Camille woman right now!”

“A-already?” Jetta was shocked by her father’s tone.

“Yes already! How this woman isn’t working for nobles and kings already is beyond me!”

“Alright alright jeez…!” Jetta passed a pen and parchment to Sangio, before assuming her cat form again to rest on the desk.

She was going to keep her eye on that little baker. There had to be something wrong with her.

—-

The city was getting close, and Goliath was dreading the final day. The only fruits of their labor was the 25 gold that Lancer gave him as pity money. He thought the drinks would make him more relaxed, but instead he woke up with dreading fear and a pounding headache.

“Is everything okay?” Camille poked her head into the doorway. Again, like the nights before, most of the members sans Sage were smushed against one another in an attempt to sleep in the room.

“No…” Goliath groaned.

“Yeah I wonder why that is…” Pierce rested his elbow on Goliath’s chest.

“I have great news! I met your debt collector last night!” Camille grinned. Pierce’s eyes went wide, brows raised in shock and anger, and he shot up to glare down at Camille.

“She came last night?! And what did you do!?”

“I paid her off!” Camille said. “I’m expecting results sometime in let’s say…when we reach the city!”

“We’re gonna die, we’re gonna fuckin die,” Pierce held his head in his hands.

“Don’t worry, I suspect we’ll be getting positive news very soon!”

“You have been very helpful to us so far Miss Caramello…but you can’t just pull shit like this without telling us…” Goliath got up from the blanket covered ground. He was scared. Extremely scared. But if Camille was this confident that she had paid her fair share, he had no choice but to sit back and wait. Can’t do much else while traveling back to the city.

“Have you been told that you’re a headache and a half?” Pierce asked her.

“Yes! I have!”

“Well I feel bad cause it apparently doesn’t stick each time it’s been said.”

“Now now, no need to talk to your cook like that, if all else fails…” Camille crawled over Pierce and around Goliath, trying to get to what looked like a small lockbox. There was no visible lock, but Camille tapped on certain seemingly arbitrary points on the box, and with that it opened up.

“I promised Goliath I’d take from my savings to pay you guys if all else fails,” she said. “18 platinum, how about that?”

“I…uh…” Goliath did say that, but now as she was pulling the coins out, he hesitated. 18 platinum? Was that all of her savings? Though transferring your wealth into platinum is impressive, that was still a meager amount. She didn’t seem fit to pay them at all.

“What are you doing with your savings?” Goliath asked.

“Oh? Why do you want to know?” She looked up at him. “If you’re curious, I’ve been trying to find the perfect place to set up shop so I have one spot to return to after traveling and collecting ingredients for my products. Unfortunately there hasn’t been a single building in a major city that’s suitable enough for me. So I’ve been saving and being careful with my money until the day I find the perfect spot.”

Goliath sighed, looking at Pierce, who looked a bit annoyed by the amount Camille really had. It looked like she was planning to trickle down their payment after all. That was frustrating, infuriating, but Goliath held it down and looked away from her.

“I wish you the best of luck,” Goliath said. “But for now, we’ll just take 13 platinum. That’ll be enough to pay off the debt today.”

“Then here,” she placed the money in Goliath’s hands, though there was a small sadness in her smile when she gave her pristine, shiny platinum coins away like that.

“…did you start making breakfast yet?” Goliath asked.

“No, not yet.”

“I’ll help you.”

Pierce watched the two leave the second floor together, and he just sat there, running a hand against the tattoo on the side of his head. He saw that look in Goliath’s eyes. That desire, that want. He wanted to ask Camille, plead they continue working together. She was the first client in a while this hands on with the group instead of pointing them to a place and telling them what to do. Not to mention all the privileges they were given here, it was like she was pampering them. But no, this was just a one time thing. Pierce kept trying to tell himself over and over this was their only time with her. That they were just being hired for this one job, and they’d go their separate ways after this. However…his resolve was faltering quite a bit…especially after that heavenly nectar he had just one small taste of the other day…not to mention the fact that when Camille isn’t looking he goes into her drawers to take a few snack cakes. She won’t notice…hopefully.

Camille made breakfast inside the very heavily stuffed caravan instead of on an outdoor fire pit. She used fresh eggs from the bounty reward and the mana shrooms Sage had collected. Goliath saw her start to use those exact mushrooms and put a hand over the basket she kept them in.

“Are these even edible?” He asked.

“Oh don’t worry,” Sage was helping as well, beating some eggs in a bowl. “Only reason they were so powerful was because the staff that wizard had created a feedback loop where the shrooms bred and fed off one another. The staff was broken and now they’re just slightly magical mushrooms.”

“I tried cooking a few myself this morning to taste,” Camille said. “It had the earthy savory taste of a mushroom with some herbal undertones, like it was already seasoned.”

“I don’t want anything too filling, too nervous to really eat much,” Goliath rubbed the back of his neck.

“Is it because I…?”

“Yes, yes it is Miss Caramello. I don’t know what you know but Don Henbane’s a dangerous man. You better hope he doesn’t think you’re mocking him.”

“Wait…what I smelled last night…” Sage muttered. “Camille darling you didn’t…?”

“I did! Like I said, that should be plenty.”

“I have my doubts…” Goliath was warming the stove, when there was a knock at the door. Beaumont? Pierce? Goliath shuffled as best as he could past the two to answer. Outside the caravan there was nothing there but a single letter, rolled together with a bright red ribbon. Oh no.

“We got a message from him…” Goliath sighed. “Let’s see how bad it is…”

“Oh? Let’s gather everyone! We have to see what he said!” Camille sounded joyous and excited, while Goliath just stared at her with exhaustion plastered on his face.

The group all met outside. Beaumont had slept in so had just woken up, but his tired nature had vanished when given the news. Pierce sat cross legged in the grass, body language stiff and his heart starting to beat so fast he had to take a few deep breaths just to steady himself. Sage fidgeted with the marbles in his bag, some of them sparking or lighting up in his grip, while he bounced his leg and stared intently at Camille. Things were tense. The only people not tense were Camille, who seemed excited, and Goliath, whose anxieties and fears mellowed out into what he saw as acceptance for the inevitable. Camille unrolled the letter, putting the ribbon to the side, and started reading.

“Dear Goliath Bernwald and his group. Although I am very disappointed by your failure to follow through with paying your debt, I am elated by what you have given me in its stead. I was told you recruited a very talented baker to assist you, and after giving me treats I could only eat once I pass and join the Fields of Golden Light, I have a proposition that will pay your debts off as soon as the end of this year. Please come at your earlier convenience. Do not keep me waiting long. Your king, your god, Afsaneh Henbane.”

Everyone who was tense had almost immediately relaxed when those words were uttered. The group looked at one another, like relief had washed over them in a tidal wave.

“By the end of the year?” Beaumont grinned. “That means he actually wants us out of debt! This is great!!”

“Now now. We have to see what he wants from us,” Pierce said. “Let’s just get on the road and keep going. We don’t wanna keep him waiting.”

“We have the time for breakfast, the stove’s still hot in there, let’s not rush,” Camille pointed out. “Come on you guys, can’t meet the big man on an empty belly, right?”

Goliath didn’t want to trust Camille’s word, but it was hard to stay stubborn and brash after being sweetened up with days worth of warm, freshly cooked food. It was barely a week of travel, and Goliath could see the subtle tan return to his complexion, no longer pale and dry. He didn’t want to continue working like this if he had to go until the end of the year paying off the rest of the debt. In this state there was no way arena money would flow as easily. He probably wouldn’t even pass a physical in the state he was in. Maybe…just maybe…

After breakfast, the group was mostly silent in anticipation for heading back to the city. Camille took the helm driving back, which was a smooth quiet ride going all the way to Mortaria. The streets were rather thin however, and the caravan felt a bit cramped going down. There were even a few stares from the public, as Camille’s caravan was still a very new oddity. Mana tech like this was still new, and even some upper class folks were looking on with interest.

“Hey Goliath, where is Don Henbane’s place of operation?” Camille asked.

“I’ll point you there, just keep traveling till we get to the center of the city.” Camille was intent on continuing, but the caravan started to shakily jolt and sputter all of a sudden.

“Oh shoot, I’m low on mana, I think we need to find a place to park this.”

“How about near our base? It’s not too terribly far.” Goliath however…he was embarrassed at the idea of Camille seeing their base of operations. The shaggy abandoned roughed up apothecary shop they called home. Don Henbane claimed to give it to them out of “pity” because most of the group was basically homeless by the time they had to work for him. Probably the nicest thing he’s done so far for the group.

Camille slowed to a stop in front of the shop the group was based in, and looking at the dilapidated building made her face twist in shock. The old apothecary was two stories, with the display windows on the first floor having been boarded up for privacy. The door looked sturdy and well built but due to age it seemed on its last limbs. There appeared to be a sign, but with the letters either fallen off or faded, all she could see was Tp Apocar.

“This is where you all live?” Camille stepped out of the caravan, parking it off in an alley next to the shop.

“Unfortunately yes…” Pierce groaned. “Can’t be picky in our situation.”

“May I look inside…?” Camille asked.

“…why?” Pierce turned to look at her.

“I’m just curious. Just curious.” Beaumont opened the door for Camille, letting her walk inside first to get a view of the area.

The main floor was quite large and spacious. Though very old and slightly falling apart, there was still evidence of the care taken towards constructing the shop. The shelves, the countertop, it was still pretty sturdy looking. Camille saw a few doors, one leading to the basement, the other a back room, and one door that looked like it led outside.

Camille immediately started speed walking to the door leading outside, and Goliath tried to grab her to stop her.

“No no I just want to see,” Camille brushed his hand off and walked outside. To her surprise, there was a large patch of overgrown grass and leaves, all underneath dirty, broken glass. This was a greenhouse! Having this much space in such a packed city to grow crops would be unheard of.

“This…is your home?” Camille asked.

“Yeah, it is,” Pierce sighed. “Careful around the glass, leaning against it might break something.”

“And you guys weren’t planning to do…anything with it?”

“I mean, we sleep here, eat here, and as a bit of luck, the pipes still work! Sometimes!” Beaumont grinned. “So if that’s what you mean…”

“H- how much…? How much are you offering for this…?” Camille asked, an excited trembling in her voice.

“You’ll have to ask Henbane that,” Goliath answered with his arms crossed. “He’s the one who bought the property and gave it to us.”

“Then it’s settled! We’re going to have to walk the rest of the way there but I’m asking that Henbane fella about this property!”

“Now now, don’t make decisions like that as if we’re not here,” Pierce scoffed. “This is our home. Only one we got.”

“Please oh please, just trust me I’ll-“

“Listen, you’ve been saying that a lot,” Pierce took a step closer. “Just trust you, just trust you. It’s annoying now. You’re overstepping things, so stop treating us like a bunch of servants just because we’re desperate and poor.” Pierce glared down at Camille, who was surprised when he snapped like that. She took a deep breath, wringing her hands nervously despite her furrowed brows and determined frown.

“I’m sorry. I’ll be careful about how I speak to you guys. But I promise, if things go how I think they will, you’ll be in a better place than you are now,” she assured Pierce.

“Let’s just uh…let’s worry about that once we meet Don Henbane!” Sage nervously chuckled, putting a hand on Pierce’s shoulder.

“Yeah yeah…” Pierce slapped Sage’s hand away and led the way out of the apothecary shop. Camille stayed behind the group, letting them lead the rest of the way to Don Henbane’s manor. Most of the group was silent up to the manor, a large, gated, extravagant building that could even rival the king’s castle in sheer opulence.

Goliath knocked on the gate, taking a step back and waiting for a response. Silence.

“Shouldn’t there be someone here to let us in…?” Camille asked. “We’re expected, right?”

“We are. Just wait a second,” Goliath replied. The rest of the group took a step back, so only Camille was surprised and had to sprint away as the gate opened.

“Time to meet the big boss!” Beaumont placed his hands behind his head, as the group walked down the long, well trimmed path to the entrance, which slowly opened the closer they got.

“These doors are big…” Camille said in wonder. “What are they so huge for?”

“They’re for a huge man,” Beaumont answered. “This guy’s pretty fuckin big!”

“I’d advise you not call Mr. Henbane ‘pretty fuckin big’ Mr. Lairot.” Beaumont flinched when out of nowhere, with no sound at all, Sangio was standing right behind the group.

“Could you like, not do that?!” Beaumont exclaimed.

“Hm…no~! Now come on, the boss is waiting for you. But first…” Sangio approached Camille, who knelt down and planted a kiss on her hand.

“He’s very excited to meet you, madam,” Sangio gave Camille a charming, sly smile, holding her hand in both his. “And now that I get to see you in person, I’m glad to see you’re as much of a marvel as your cooking.” Camille couldn’t help but cover her cheeks so he didn’t see how pink they were getting, giggling under her breath. The group gave each other annoyed glances, while Sage looked on with a silent envy and anger.

“Flattery will only do so much with me, mister!” Camille laughed. “But you’re doing quite a good job!”

“Now then…” Sangio led the group down the very high ceiling hallways, traveling to Don Henbane’s office. A trickle of cigar smoke wafted out the room, and there sat the man keeping the group on a metaphorical leash.

This time, Don Henbane was dressed to the nines in an extravagant white and gold suit. A bright red brooch was placed in the center of his tie, which seemed to emit an eerie glow of magic. On his desk was not only a stack of papers he was sifting through, but also a bloodied dagger, and a sack that was stained with drying blood.

“Good to see you made it,” Don Henbane greeted. “Sangio, go get the refreshments.”

“Of course, sir,” Sangio left the room, leaving the group in the big, spacious office with the most terrifying man in Mortaria. There was a brief, but uncomfortable amount of silence between him and the rest of the group.

“We- we have the money…” Goliath was going to shuffle through his bag for the platinum coins.

“I don’t want that. You’ve given me plenty,” Don Henbane raised a hand. “Miss Caramello. Step forward.” Camille stood up straight, raising her chin up and walking closer to Don Henbane’s desk.

“You…you have a skill I’ve only seen in trained chefs working for nobles and royalty,” he said. “Who did you work for..?”

“Nobody, sir,” Camille answered. “I’ve always worked independently.”

“Who were you apprenticed under?”

“My family, sir.”

“Is that it…? Are you sure you haven’t worked for any particularly famous bakers?”

“Not at all. Just my family, and they were just wheat farmers.”

“That doesn’t really explain much…”

“About what, sir?” At that, Don Henbane leaned back in his seat, letting out an exasperated sigh.

“I’ve been thinking about the taste of your pastries…ever since I ate those delectable bundles of godly sweetness, I’ve been thinking about when…when I get to indulge in your baking next. You have amazing talent. How I’ve never heard of you before is astonishing. And because of that, I want to offer something to the rest of this group.”

“An offer? Really?” Beaumont grinned excitedly, and in response Goliath tapped him on the top of his head to shush him.

“Yes, yes, two options…first one. Camille, I hire you as my personal baker. You’ll have a room, an allowance, and all I ask for is for you to bake anything I ask for. If you need exotic or expensive ingredients, I’ll provide them. I’ll cut the group's collective debt in half and I’ll stop accumulating interest. Second option, I’ll be your patron. If you have a business of any kind, I’ll provide you with the money and real estate, and these men will be your co-workers until the end of the year. Once those remaining 12 months are over, their debt will be paid in full and you’ll have them replaced with more skilled workers.”

Camille looked up at Don Henbane, then glanced over at the group. She might part ways now and then with them. One of those options benefited Camille heavily, the other the group. Camille getting a very cushy, comfortable, high paying job, versus the group having a guarantee that by the end of their 15 month year, they won’t be in debt.

“I-if the group is okay with it, I’ll pick option two…” Camille spoke up, but slower than normal.

“Goliath, Beaumont, Sage…” Pierce muttered. “What option do you prefer…?”

“I-I pick option two…” Goliath muttered.

“Oh? Oh thank goodness, I was gonna pick that one too!” Beaumont grinned

“Working alongside Camille for longer? Then option two!” Sage answered. Camille’s face lit up, her smile went wider than ever, her dark brown cheeks glowing bright against the golden glow of the room.

“Oh? That’s a surprise, if it’s unanimous, then-“

“Wait one second sir!” Camille interrupted Don Henbane, which Goliath visibly winced at. Henbane instinctively raised his tail, but didn’t say anything more.

“I have a request, before we set things in stone,” Camille said. “The apothecary shop these men live in. It’s the perfect real estate for a shop I want. Is there a way the shop can be repaired and set up for better living? It’s a fantastic area, and I’ll get plenty of customers.”

“Hm…brave little one aren’t you?” Henbane lowered his tail, leaning forward against his desk. “I’ll only say yes…if you bake me something right now.”

“Of course sir! I’ll bake you whatever you want, sir!” Camille began bouncing back and forth on her feet in excitement and glee. “Thank you thank you thank you for the offer!”

“Now now! Don’t thank me so soon! I expect you to deliver any new or outstanding pastries directly to me at least once every week! Miss a deadline, and I’ll add another week of service to your debt repayment! If you have to travel, you’ll give me a 24 hour notice or else.”

“That’s it? That's all we gotta do?” Beaumont spoke up, causing Goliath to tap him even harder on the head.

“Of course, we understand,” Sage bowed. “This is more than we’d ever even dream of being gifted. You’re such a kind generous soul…!” Sangio at that moment came rolling in with a covered tray with a bottle of wine and several glasses, the warm smell of roasted pork wafting from under the tray.

“Oh I know, I know I am~!” Henbane smirked. “Camille I’d offer you to share this meal with the rest of us but…because of your request, you gotta go bake for me before you get a meal.”

“Huh?” Camille was already reaching under the tray while she grabbed herself a glass of wine.

“Camille, would you stop!” Pierce hissed.

“Alright alright I’m going I’m going!” Camille put her glass down.

“I’ll take you to the kitchen,” Sangio offered. “Come with me.” Sangio escorted Camille out, and once the door was closed, Don Henbane motioned for the group to relax and eat.

“Go on, there’s plenty for all of you.”

Camille happily followed Sangio down the hallway, a spring in her step.

“Why didn’t you accept the job of the Don’s personal chef, miss?” Sangio asked. “You’re basically set for life if you work here.”

“Well, would a bird want to be in a cage forever even if it was lined with gold and gems?” Camille asked. “I might get whatever I want, but the restraint would drive me nuts.”

“That is a fair point, you seem like the kind of woman that loves the thrill of travel. Though I don’t know how capable you are out there. It’s quite dangerous outside of major cities. Monsters and enchanted beasts, traveling alone like that would be dangerous.” Sangio tugged at his collar to scratch his neck, and for that brief motion at that brief second, Camille noticed something under the collar of his well pressed tuxedo. Stitch marks on his neck.

“I know. But I find ways,” she answered. “I think it’ll be easier for me if those four work with me.”

“Don’t hold your breath. Uncl- Don Henbane wrung them dry of any use they could possibly have left. Great men at one point but far past that. I’m surprised Henbane even keeps them around.”

“I think that’s stupid of him.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s stupid of him in the long run to just work some outstanding men to death.”

“Heh, miss, you’re either very brave or very foolish to talk like that about the Don.”

“I like to think I’m both~!” Camille was lead to a kitchen that was just in the midst of being set up to prepare to make dinner. Taking items from the shelves and pantries was a large, very heavyset man with black haired peppered with streaks of grey, and big heavy mutton chops framing his face. He had a big gnarly scar over his left eye, one still bright hazel and moving about, while the other was dull and limp.

“G’day Sangio, what’s th’boss want today?” The chef spoke in a rough gravelly tone.

“Caraway, this here is Camille, she’s going to be baking a treat for the boss!” Sangio smiled wide and nudged Camille over to the chef. Hearing that, Caraway didn’t look too pleased, and leaned over to get more eye to eye with Camille.

“Hm…? She’s not a new hire is she? The boss ain’t replacing me, is he?” Caraway narrowed his eyes at Camille, a look of jealousy and anger clear on his face.

“This is a one time thing, nothing more,” Sangio answered.

“Do you have any sugar in here by chance? I’m going to make something simple for your boss, Mister Caraway sir.”

“No sugar. I don’ bake sweets here. But I do have honey,” Caraway crossed his arms and let out an irritated grumbling.

“Of course sir! This won’t take too too long I hope! Baking is always an exhaustive process!” Camille started scoping around in the pantries for anything she could bake with. There was flour, eggs, milk, and some dried fruit and nuts, and that was about it.

“Hm…I can still make this work!” Camille started gathering the ingredients, and laid them all out. Sangio simply leaned against the wall at first, but as Camille checked the oven to put some wood in, she turned to Sangio and quickly walked up to him.

“Can you light the oven and stove fire for me? And Mister Caraway, can you beat those egg whites for me? You’ll have them beat faster than I could.”

“Comin’ into my kitchen, an’ giving me orders?” Caraway scoffed. “Absolutely not! I’m not doin’ anything for you! I’m just watching and judging!”

“Okaaaay, if you say so!” Camille pouted, but got started separating the egg yolks and whites, while Sangio got down on his knees and began starting the fire.

“What are you making, if I may ask?” Sangio asked.

“A fruit and nut sponge cake!” Camille poured some milk and butter into a pot. “I’m using honey instead of sugar for sweetener, so I hope the cake doesn’t become too heavy or dense.”

“I’m not a big fan of nuts, can you take the nuts out? Cause I might want a slice if the boss doesn’t eat it all.”

“I’ll bake away a little piece for you, because I’m pretty sure your boss’s going to eat the entire thing.”

Sangio just lingered at a safe distance from Camille. Admittedly, Camille felt a bit weird being hovered over by not one but two people, but that didn’t stop her work. She was fast with her hands, not a single second was a wasted one. When the butter was melting, she was beating the egg whites. When the butter was melted, she mixed it with the eggs and poured the flour in. Once the dried fruit was sprinkled in, had a nice fluffy batter of sponge cake, and put it in the oven.

“And now…” Camille put down an hourglass. “We wait.”

“That hourglass, it’s magic isn’t it?” Sangio asked.

“How did you know?” Camille looked up at him.

“I think I recognize something similar to this from the artifacts the boss keeps around. The sand in the hourglass appears and disappears depending on how much time you need.”

“Oh yeah! This does the same thing!” Camille giggled. “It was a gift from someone I made a wedding cake for!” People were giving her items like this for her baking? There’s no doubt Camille was extremely skilled. Which is why to Sangio, her answers with Don Henbane didn’t add up. Caramello isn’t a particularly well known last name to his knowledge. Maybe she was from a different kingdom or country, maybe if he did some reading up he could figure out just who she apprenticed under or where she grew up. He knew Jetta was uneasy about Camille, so maybe some research will calm her nerves. As spoiled as Jetta was, she was some of Sangio’s only family, so he was almost hard wired to make her happy.

The group meanwhile was allowed in a different room, and was busy enjoying roasted ham and a glass of wine. Most were just picking big chunks off to enjoy, with exception to Sage, who was leaving a small pile to the side on the train.

“Don’t wanna eat, Sage?” Beaumont was talking with a mouth full of food, and he spat some crumbs on Sage’s shirt.

“I’m saving some pieces for Camille, we don’t know when she’ll be back out.”

“Oh c'mon you’re giving her all the good cuts!” Beaumont tried to reach his hand out, only for Goliath to smack it away.

“He’s doing the right thing, so stop that.”

“Awww fine!” Beaumont huffed.

“So with this deal…we’re going to pull stunts like that with Camille more often now?” Pierce was tuning his guitar on the much too large sofa.

“That event was an outlier and you know it damn well,” Goliath huffed. ��I think it’s a good deal. This is far more stable than anything we’ve done in the past. And now by the end of this year, we can go our separate ways and live debt free.”

“Implying any of us would just stay debt free forever,” Pierce pointed out. “I don’t think it’ll be that easy. While we work as little delivery boys for that fruitcake, we’re finding better, stable jobs on the side, so we can all just have boring, stable lives by the end of the year. Got that?”

“You do make a good point…but the problem is we’re all in this mess because none of us wanted boring, stable lives,” Sage said. “We have to fix our shit collectively. This could be good for us.”

“We don’t have to go a few days with barely a bite to eat, for one,” Beaumont pointed out. “And if the apothecary shop is being repaired, we’ll have a better place to sleep and shit.”

“Yeah…she’s a good cook, even if she gives me a headache…” Pierce sighed.

“That’s a headache I’d hate to ever get rid of~!” Sage smiled dreamily. “She might be a bit rash and overly optimistic but I mean…we keep Beaumont around so what’s the difference?”

“Now what the hell does that mean?! We’re stuck with each other, dick!” Beaumont huffed while he poured himself another cup.

“Beaumont’s a hassle I’m familiar with, at the very least,” Pierce rebutted.

“Oh! This is the room you guys are staying in!” Camille had opened the door to the lounging area, walking in with an excited grin on her face.

“I have some great news!” She turned her right cheek to face the group. There was a bright purple, pretty big kiss mark on the side of her face. “The Don wants all of us in his office, he’s going to announce the news to you all!”

In Don Henbane’s office, he was very, incredibly preoccupied with the large sheet of sponge cake presented to him, not even slicing off chunks to eat and simply tearing out big hunks of cake with his bare hands.

“Mmm…ohh goodness yes….” He moaned to himself.

“Don Henbane.” Sangio’s voice got him to visibly flinch and sit up straight in his chair.

“Oh uh…yeah bring em in,” Henbane replied. The group entered, Goliath leading them inside with a stoic face, trying to hide the optimism he truly felt.

“Sangio,” Henbane looked to him, and Sangio pulled out and unrolled a contract.

“You’re free to read this, but this time there’s no hidden catch to all of this. What I’ve been saying here is the whole truth to our deal,” Henbane explained. “Starting tomorrow, the apothecary shop will be repaired and upgraded to be your main place of business. I’ll be working with you to make sure you keep your end of the bargain, and hopefully if your payments are consistent, you’ll be debt free by the end of the year. I’ll need signatures from all of you to legally bind this contract.”

Sage stepped forward to have another read through the contract. When it came to contracts and the like, Sage was better at parsing things out. He scanned over it, just to make sure there was no hidden catch, and just nodded at the rest of the group.

“He’s right, this is all about what I expected,” Sage spoke up. “Alright. Guess we sign.” Sangio handed Sage the pen first, a warm smile on his face.

“Thank you for working with us for so long. I hope by the end of this year we can part ways and have nothing to do with each other from here on out.”

“Oh yes…I hope so too…” Sage signed his signature first, then Goliath, Pierce, Beaumont, and finally, Camille signed her name on the contract. Sangio rolled it back up and presented it to Henbane.

“Excellent! Now then, you all go on back home. I’m going to be busy for the rest of the day,” Henbane motioned for Sangio to take everyone back outside, and once the doors closed and Henbane was left all alone, he continued his very feverish feasting of the fruit-filled cake.

“Goodbye you all, have a lovely rest of the day!” Sangio grinned as he waved them off at the gate.

“Goodbye Sangio! You’ve been a wonderful host!” Camille smiled and waved behind her, walking back down the street and soon out of sight from the manor. Sangio smiled as he watched them leave, and though he kept his eyes on the group, he could sense not far from him the other presence that’s been trailing behind ever since the group came into the manor.

“I hope you’ve been thinking what I’ve been thinking,” Jetta, in cat form, was standing on the path right behind Sangio.

“Researching that girl? Of course!” Sangio turned and picked up Jetta in his arms.

“What did you think? Did you taste any magic at all in what she cooked?”

“Not a single thing. But still, I’m unsure about her deal. That’ll be our little pet project for the rest of the year.”

“Ohhhh wonderful~!” Jetta purred. Neither Sangio nor Jetta felt right about Camille. Their boss was mesmerized by her, but someone who can charm that easily could be hiding something, anything. Time to see what Camille Caramello was truly like.

—-

“Home sweet home!” Beaumont joked the second they got back. “I’m actually going to miss being in that cramped caravan bedroom!”

“Well that’s still my bedroom! So the only room left after that is the first floor!” Camille pat Beaumont on the back. “We can always cycle!”

“No no, that’s still your stuff, Miss Caramello,” Goliath rubbed the back of his neck. It was getting late, the sun was setting and the exhaustion of nonstop week long travel was finally getting to the group.

“It’s not even that late but I’m exhausted…!” Sage yawned. “If you don’t mind, I’m getting ready for bed…”

“Yeah, I could use that right about now,” Pierce stretched his arms above his head. “Fuckin, what a week…”

“Goodnight y’all!” Beaumont started walking upstairs to the second floor of the apothecary. “If anybody needs me, I’ll be fuckin knocked out!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be in the basement if I’m needed,” Goliath was the last to head inside, Camille didn’t follow them, but she did go up to Goliath and wrap her arms around him to the best of her ability. Goliath was shocked. That got him to stop dead in his tracks with his eyes wide with shock.

“I’m glad we met like this,” Camille muttered. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Goliath.” Goliath couldn’t help but grin ear to ear, and he turned around, grabbing Camille and lifting her up into a hug.

“I should be thanking you, Camille,” he said, before setting her back down. “Thank you so much for everything you’ve done for me and my group this past week. You’ve gone above and beyond.” There was a twinkle in Camille’s eyes, a look of joy, relief, excitement. This was all temporary, as a year might go by faster than they’ll realize. But this would be a year where things change for the better.

Camille smiled one last time at Goliath before walking back to her caravan in the alley. There was still a soft glow of the lights inside. She crawled up the ladder, into her bedroom, and plopped right down in bed, exhaustion finally washing over her.

“Mom…dad…if you hear me out there, I’m going to make it…for you guys…” she smiled sadly, kicking off her boots and laying down. This was it. Finally, everything was falling into place. Camille’s Candy Apothecary…probably a work in progress title for now. She was never good with naming things. She might have liked to travel, and owning a shop might tie her down, but it would be hers.

Things were going to be incredible from here on out.

#cuppyart #Cuppy's Stories #A Spoonful of Sugar #fantasy story #reverse harem #high fantasy #cozy fantasy

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