The Power of Lust

After narrowly escaping the clutches of the Keepers of Crux, Arjun hid away in the storage hull of a merchant ship known as the Heretical Rose. He paid the captain a small fortune to keep his presence a secret. It was more than it should’ve cost, but it bought him passage away from Catania City and across the western Empire once the storm finally cleared.

Thirteen days. Five ports. He hadn’t felt safe in a single one of them.

Every night he slept in the cold hull of the ship, his fingers clenched around the storage cube containing the Shaft of Crux. The weight of it was constant, unrelenting, pressing against his chest like a curse. The Shaft was the reason the Keepers of Crux hunted him, and the reason he was alone.

He didn’t know where Ringo was. He only hoped he was still alive and would see him again in Satana when it was all over.

Arjun peered through the narrow porthole of the storage room, his eyes widening as the Crimlan skyline came into view. Sunlight broke over the city, reflecting off the glistening canals. The city sprawled along the edge, vibrant and alive, untouched by the storms that plagued Catania.

“Docking in Crimla in fifteen minutes!” the first mate shouted from the upper deck, his voice echoing through the ship.

Arjun’s heart raced. He could hardly believe it. He was finally here.

The Heretical Rose wasn’t a large ship, but it was big enough to get the job done. Built for trade, it carried a crew of twenty-three, not including the stowaway hiding in the storage hull. Arjun had spent his first few nights curled up inside a crate of silks from Calixtus until it was unloaded in Verocia. After that, he slept on the cold, metal floor with nothing but a thin blanket given to him by one of the younger deckhands. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

For nearly two weeks, he lived like a ghost, moving through the shadows, avoiding curious eyes. He couldn’t risk drawing attention to himself. Not with the Keepers hunting him.

Arjun tightened his grip on the storage cube, feeling the faint hum of power from within. It was a strange sensation, like holding a heartbeat in his hands. The Shaft of Crux was no ordinary artifact. And the Keepers would never stop searching for it.

He closed his eyes, his mind drifting back to that night on Catania—the storm, the tornadoes, Ringo’s capture. A pang of guilt twisted in his chest. He should’ve stayed. He should’ve fought by his side. But Ringo’s words echoed in his mind. “Keep it safe. No matter what. Satana in four months.”

Arjun opened his eyes, his resolve hardening. He would keep the Shaft safe. He owed Ringo that much.

The ship lurched as it neared the dock, the rigging flapping in the breeze. Arjun took a deep breath, the fresh air filling his lungs. The sun’s rays glistened off the steel hulls, casting golden reflections over the bustling port. Crimla was busy, the docks crowded with sailors, merchants, and travelers. Goods were being loaded and unloaded, crates stacked high, barrels rolling down ramps.

The Heretical Rose would be leaving again soon, bound for Karben and then Tarkhan. The crew moved with urgency, their voices sharp as they prepared for the next leg of their journey. But amidst the chaos, the captain, Herapin of the Auxian Islands, took the time to see Arjun off.

“Well, lad,” Herapin said, leaning casually against the ship’s railing, “this is your stop, yeah?”

Arjun grabbed his satchel, double-checking to make sure the storage cube was secure. “Yeah. Thanks again for letting me catch a ride.”

Herapin laughed, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Thank you for the transport fees,” he teased, giving Arjun a playful wink. “Don’t go getting yourself killed now. I like to keep my business alive and breathing.”

Arjun smiled, his first genuine smile in what felt like an eternity. “I’ll do my best.”

Together, they walked across the deck, weaving through the bustling crew. Herapin’s presence kept the questions at bay, his reputation enough to ward off any suspicion. When they reached the gangplank, Herapin clapped Arjun on the back. “Good luck in Crimla,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Keep your head down. It’s a beautiful city, but it’s got sharp teeth. Watch your back.”

Arjun nodded, his face turning serious. “I will. Thanks, Captain.”

With that, he descended the gangplank, his boots hitting the wooden dock. He took a deep breath, his senses assaulted by the vibrant chaos of Crimla. The air was thick with burning wood and smoked meats, the voices of traders and dockworkers blending into a symphony of noise. The city loomed before him, its wooden towers ascending to the clouds, the narrow streets bustling with life.

He looked back one last time, watching as Herapin waved from the deck, his silhouette framed against the morning sky. Arjun lifted his hand, returning the wave before turning his back on the ship. He pulled his satchel closer, feeling the reassuring weight of the storage cube against his side.

He couldn’t afford to linger. Not with the Keepers on his trail. Not with the Shaft in his possession.

He walked down the crowded dock, his eyes darting around, his senses on high alert. The breeze carried the sounds of sailors shouting orders, the creaking of wooden planks, and the distant cry of birds. Merchants haggled over prices while dockworkers unloaded crates stamped with various insignias. The air was thick with the scent of mistian oil.

Arjun moved through the crowd, his shoulders hunched, trying to blend in. He needed to find a place to hide, somewhere safe where he could gather his thoughts and plan his next move. But with every step, the weight of the storage cube grew heavier, like an anchor pulling him down.

The Shaft of Crux was a dangerous artifact, powerful enough to reshape the world. And it was in his hands.

He couldn’t afford to slip up. Not here. Not now.

His heart raced as he approached the end of the dock and saw a military checkpoint blocking the only exit. Uniformed soldiers stood rigid, faces set in stone, rifles slung over their shoulders. Each one bore the insignia of the Intactus, a branch of the Aenean government tasked with combating the criminal underworld and smuggling of gaigo. Their presence was heavier here, at the northern edge of the Aenean Empire, due to the proximity to the Zhang War.

They were inspecting everything and everyone. Bags were emptied, pockets turned out, crates were pried open. The soldiers moved with precision, their eyes sharp and suspicious, trained to spot liars and smugglers.

Arjun’s mouth went dry.

He joined the line, his mind racing as he counted the soldiers—seven at the checkpoint, at least five more patrolling the area. His eyes flicked to the rooftops, spotting two snipers stationed above. Every escape route was covered. If he ran, they’d gun him down before he took three steps.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. You’ve got this. Just play it cool. You’ve been in worse spots.

But even as he tried to reassure himself, his fingers twitched against the strap of his satchel, feeling the hard outline of the storage cube within. It was cold to the touch, humming faintly, as if it knew the danger they were in.

The line moved forward. One by one, travelers were interrogated and searched. A merchant argued about his paperwork before getting dragged into a tent for further questioning. A family’s luggage was dumped out, toys and clothes scattered across the ground. The soldiers were relentless. Efficient.

They’ll find it, Arjun thought, panic prickling at his skin. They’ll find the Shaft, and it’ll all be over.

He swallowed hard, willing himself to keep his breathing steady. Get it together. You’re Arjun, the apprentice of Ringo Fischer. These guys are nothing.

He was next.

The soldier waved him forward, his eyes cold and calculating. “Name, age, and reason for coming to Crimla,” he demanded, his voice as sharp as the blade on his hip.

Arjun’s heart skipped a beat, but his face remained neutral. “Arjun of Hoepria, twenty-four. I’m visiting an old friend in the city.”

The soldier’s eyes narrowed, his gaze lingering on Arjun’s face. “You look a little young for twenty-four.”

A cold sweat dripped down his back, but Arjun forced a casual smile. “People always say that to me. I’ve had a baby face for as long as I can remember.”

The soldier grunted, his suspicion not entirely gone. “Hand over the bag and put your arms out to your sides.”

Arjun’s fingers tightened around the strap for just a moment before he forced himself to comply. He handed over the satchel and lifted his arms, fighting the urge to flinch as the soldier began patting him down. The man’s hands were rough and methodical, searching every centimeter of his clothing.

The soldier’s fingers paused at the gamas. His eyes flicked up, his expression hardening. “What are these?”

Arjun’s mind raced. “They call them gamas. They’re for self-defense.”

The soldier’s brow furrowed. “Where’d you get something like that?”

“My mentor gave them to me as a gift.”

“A mentor? In what?”

“Bounty hunting…” Arjun said, keeping his tone casual, but inside he was screaming.

The soldier grunted again, his eyes momentarily fixated on the gamas before he continued his search. When he was satisfied, he moved on to the satchel.

Time seemed to slow as the soldier opened the bag. Arjun’s heart pounded in his chest, his muscles tensed, ready to run. He watched the man’s fingers wrap around the storage cube, lifting it out. The soldier turned it over, his eyes narrowing as he examined the object.

“What’s this?” he asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

Arjun’s stomach dropped, his mind racing. He couldn’t hesitate. He had to be convincing. “It’s an abstract sculpture. A gift for my friend in Crimla. He’s always been into weird art.”

The soldier’s eyes flicked up, his gaze searching Arjun’s face for any sign of a lie. Arjun held his breath, forcing himself to remain still, to not give anything away.

After what felt like an eternity, the soldier grunted and placed the cube back into the satchel. He rifled through the rest of the bag, finding nothing else of interest. Satisfied, he handed the bag back to Arjun.

“You’re free to go. Welcome to Crimla.”

Arjun took the bag, his hands shaking as he forced himself to smile. “Thank you.”

He walked through the checkpoint, his legs feeling like jelly as he moved through the crowd. He didn’t dare look back, but he could feel the soldiers’ eyes on him, their stares heavy, drilling into his back. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but he kept his pace steady, forcing his breathing to remain calm.

His heart pounded in his chest as he stepped off the dock and into the labyrinth of Crimla’s streets. The chaos of the city surrounded him—street vendors shouted their wares, boar-drawn carriages clattered over cobblestone, and pedestrians bustled past, barely sparing him a glance. The scent of spices and smoked meats mingled in the air, a reminder that he was in a foreign place, one he had never been before.

Finally, he exhaled, his shoulders sagging as he slipped into the shadows of a nearby alley. He did it. He was in.

However, as soon as he was out of hearing range, the Intactus soldier went over to another, his voice low and urgent. “Call Lore Master Venus III and tell him we may have found the kid he was looking for. He’s in Crimla.”

Arjun’s grip tightened on the strap of his satchel as he weaved through the crowd, his senses on high alert. Every face looked suspicious, every stranger felt like a potential enemy. His eyes scanned the alleys, the rooftops, the shadows. He couldn’t stay in one place for long. They had to already be on his trail.

But he would survive. He would protect the Shaft. And he would meet Ringo in Satana. No matter what.

Despite his inner resolve, his nerves were frayed, clouding his thoughts and weighing down his limbs. A dull ache throbbed at the back of his head, his exhaustion catching up with him. It felt like days since he had slept. Days since he could breathe without fear clawing at his throat.

He understood now why Ringo ritualistically poured himself a glass of whiskey before leaving the Soulchaser. His mentor always seemed calm, collected, unshakable. But now Arjun realized it was a facade—a mask worn to bury the fear and anxiety that came with a life on the run.

He needed to rest, to calm his racing heart and clear his head before he made a fatal mistake.

As he moved deeper into the city, he searched for somewhere he could blend in—a place to gather his thoughts without drawing attention. His eyes landed on a weathered sign swinging above a wooden door: Jager’s Inn & Tavern. The faded letters suggested it had been there for decades.

He slipped inside, immediately hit by a wave of warmth and noise. The tavern was alive with laughter and chatter, the scent of ale and roasted meat filling the air. Wooden beams stretched across the ceiling, and the floorboards creaked underfoot. A roaring fireplace cast flickering shadows on the walls, giving the place an inviting, rustic feel.

Arjun scanned the room, his gaze moving over the clusters of patrons. Hunters and fishermen still in their work clothes, soldiers enjoying their leave, merchants taking time off to relax. Ordinary people, just living their lives.

But his attention snagged on a familiar face.

A young Aenean woman sat at a table in the corner, leaning toward an older, wealthy-looking man. Her body language was calculated—one leg crossed over the other, a playful smile on her lips—but her eyes were sharp, guarded. She did her best to hide her discomfort, smiling through the man’s lecherous advances as he spoke animatedly, his hand inching a little too high on her thigh.

Lyria.

He almost didn’t recognize her without the dirt and grime from their journey through Sufar two years prior. Her auburn hair was clean and neatly tied back, revealing delicate features that seemed too kind for the life she led. But there was no mistaking those piercing green eyes—eyes that had seen more than they should have.

The last time he saw her, she fled the Ember Forge after sacrificing the memories of her dead sister to repair his beloved gamas. He had wondered for years what became of her, worried about the price she paid to help him. Now, she was mere meters away, putting on a show for a man she clearly despised.

She glanced in his direction, her eyes narrowing with recognition, but her expression remained neutral. She didn’t seem to fully remember him, but something about his face caught her attention.

Arjun tore his gaze away, moving to the bar and waiting to order a drink, doing his best to blend in. He didn’t know if she was in trouble or if this was just another con, but he wasn’t about to let anything happen to her. Not after what she did for him.

He watched from the corner of his eye as Lyria tried to excuse herself from the table. The Aenean noble’s face twisted with annoyance, his fingers tightening around her wrist, his voice low and insistent.

Arjun’s grip tightened on his gama. His blood boiled as he moved to stand, but before he could intervene, Lyria ripped her arm free, her voice sharp. “Let go of me.”

The man sneered, rising to his feet, his chest puffed out in a pathetic show of dominance. “You don’t walk away from me, girl.”

Lyria’s eyes flared. “We’re done here. Finish your drink and leave me the fuck alone.”

His hand shot out, aiming to grab her again, but Lyria moved with lightning speed, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she shoved him back into his seat. The chair scraped against the floor as he stumbled, his eyes wide with shock.

Lyria’s voice was cold, her eyes unyielding. “Don’t make me say it again.”

The man’s mouth opened and closed, his bravado crumbling under her fierce glare. He stayed seated, his face red with humiliation, as Lyria turned and strode toward the bar.

Arjun watched her approach, his heart pounding. Her presence was commanding, her confidence undeniable. She was just as fearless as he remembered.

She stopped in front of him, tilting her head as she studied his face. “You look familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?”

Arjun met her gaze, a faint smile playing on his lips. “You don’t remember me?”

She frowned, crossing her arms. “I do, but I can’t place it. Have we done business before?”

The bartender approached. “Can I get you anything?”

“A pint of Aurum, and whatever she’s having,” Arjun said, motioning to Lyria.

Lyria’s eyebrow rose. “I’ll take the same.”

Arjun slid a handful of senecs across the bar, just like he’d seen Ringo do a hundred times. “Keep the change.”

The bartender’s eyes lit up as he took the money, moving to pour their drinks. Moments later, he returned with two frothy pints of golden mead.

Lyria took a long drink, wiping the foam from her lips. “So you do recognize me?”

Arjun nodded, taking a sip of his own pint. “We met in Sufar. You helped me out at the Ember Forge.”

Lyria’s eyes widened before narrowing in confusion. “The Ember Forge… Can’t say I remember that. My memory’s a bit hazy from that trip. Feels like I was in a dream the whole time. Must’ve taken some Entellan mushrooms or something while I was there.”

Arjun’s chest tightened, guilt washing over him. She really doesn’t remember…

Lyria leaned against the bar, her curiosity piqued. “Sounds like you owe me an explanation. Care to join me at a table? I want to hear everything.”

Arjun smiled, his shoulders relaxing for the first time in days. “Yeah… I’d like that.”

They sat at a small wooden table near the center of the tavern, the warmth of the fire crackling in the hearth casting a golden glow over the room. The scent of roasted meat and honeyed mead filled the air, blending with the murmur of drunken conversation and the occasional burst of laughter from the other patrons.

Pints in hand, they drank as Arjun recounted their adventure in Sufar. He told her everything—how he’d chased her through the city, weaving through the crowded streets until their fight took them onto the speeding train. How she had slipped away, only to appear again as he and Ringo were preparing to enter the treacherous labyrinth leading to the Ember Forge.

He described the near-impossible journey through the maze, the countless traps, the fight through hordes of reanimated corpses, and the final, desperate battle alongside Kaelen against the people who had betrayed her.

Lyria listened intently, sipping her mead, her eyes flickering with recognition at certain parts, as though pieces of her lost memory were teasing at the edges of her mind.

“…and then, when we killed all of them…” Arjun trailed off, his fingers tightening around his stein. He remembered what truly happened. How she sacrificed the memories of her sister for him. He debated telling her the truth, but it was her wish to forget.

Lyria leaned in slightly. “What? What happened next?”

Arjun hesitated. “Uh… nothing. We fixed my blades, and then you took off into the labyrinth. I never got the chance to say goodbye, and I didn’t see you again until now.”

Lyria frowned slightly, as if trying to recall something that wasn’t there. “I still don’t remember leaving. Shit, I barely remember getting there at all. I know I must’ve spent another day in that place, at least, but the next thing I knew, I woke up in an inn. The last clear memory I had back then was getting on an airship bound for Sufar. Everything else in between was… just gone.”

She shook her head, frustrated. “I had less than a hundred senecs in my pocket, so I bought the cheapest passage out of there and ended up in the Central Minor Markets. Pickpocketed some travelers, found a little work, and just… kept moving. Hopping from one city to the next, never staying in one place too long. That’s how I wound up here.” She took another drink. “What about you?”

Arjun exhaled, swirling the remnants of his mead in his stein. “Ringo and I have been doing the same, really. Traveling the Empire, taking any bounty we could get. It’s been… eventful.”

Lyria smirked. “Sounds like you’ve had your fair share of adventures.”

Arjun gave a small, almost nostalgic smile. “Yeah… I have.”

Her expression softened. “So what brought you here?”

The smile faded from his face as reality set back in. “Ringo and I got into some trouble. We were being tracked by a group of powerful people looking for an artifact we had. He distracted them while I got away with it.” He hesitated before adding, “I’m here to deliver it to a friend. After that, I’m supposed to meet Ringo in Satana in August.”

Lyria raised an eyebrow. “An artifact?” She leaned forward slightly. “What kind of artifact?”

Arjun suddenly felt a bit too warm. He shifted in his seat. “It’s nothing, really. Just something dangerous. Something that can’t fall into the wrong hands.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “You won’t even let me see it?”

His fingers instinctively tightened around the strap of his satchel. “I… I can’t. It’s too important.” He forced himself to hold her gaze. “I have to take it to the Zornic Forest. I have to meet Ringo in Satana.”

Lyria didn’t respond right away. Instead, she slowly traced the rim of her stein with her finger, as if weighing something in her mind. Then, after a long pause, she said, “That’s not until August. So you have time, right?”

Arjun hesitated. “I—”

“I mean, you were planning to stay in Crimla for the night anyway,” she added. “So why not stay a few more days? We ran into each other by complete chance—what are the odds? Maybe it’s a sign we were meant to be friends.”

Arjun wasn’t sure how much he believed in fate, but the thought of taking a short break from the stress of being hunted was tempting. He had spent about half a month on edge, constantly looking over his shoulder, barely sleeping. Maybe a few days in Crimla wouldn’t hurt.

“I think I could manage a couple more days,” he admitted. “But I really can’t stay long.”

Lyria grinned. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

She stood, finishing the last of her mead, and reached for his hand. “C’mon then. The night’s still young, and there’s plenty of trouble to get into.”

Arjun grabbed his satchel and took her hand, allowing her to pull him out of the tavern and into the lively streets of Crimla.

For the first time in forever, he allowed himself to stop worrying—just for a little while.

Even if he knew it wouldn’t last.

Arjun didn’t know exactly where Lyria was leading him, but he followed anyway. The streets of Crimla were alive even at this hour—oil lanterns cast warm flickering light along the cobblestone roads, and the air was thick with the scents of sizzling meat skewers, fresh bread, and the faint trace of oil drifting in from the docks.

“Ever been here before?” Lyria asked, glancing over her shoulder.

“No,” Arjun admitted, adjusting the strap of his satchel. “This is my first time in Gorea.”

“Then you’re in luck,” she said, flashing a grin. “Because I’m an excellent tour guide. And since you agreed to stick around, you have to let me show you the city.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That so?”

“Absolutely.” She tugged him by the wrist toward the nearest food stall before he could protest.

It was a simple setup—an old Gorean man flipping skewers of grilled pork over a charcoal pit, his hands moving with the precision of decades spent behind the fire.

Lyria leaned against the counter. “Two skewers, extra spice,” she ordered, then looked at Arjun. “Hope you can handle heat.”

Arjun handed the man some money. “I grew up traveling around the world,” he scoffed. “Spice doesn’t scare me.”

The old man chuckled and handed them their skewers. Lyria took hers and immediately bit into it, giving a small hum of approval before waving Arjun on.

“Go on, let’s see if your traveling did you any good.”

Arjun took a bite and nearly choked.

His eyes watered instantly. The spice burned all the way down his throat, but he refused to cough, swallowing thickly as he forced himself to keep a straight face.

Lyria laughed at his struggle. “Not so tough now, are you?”

Arjun cleared his throat, feigning nonchalance. “It’s… good,” he managed, though his voice was hoarse.

“Uh-huh. You’re sweating.”

Arjun wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “It’s warm out.”

“Sure it is. We’re in Gorea, the coldest region of the Empire.”

She tossed him a waterskin from the vendor’s stall, which he caught with a glare before taking a long sip.

And that was how the night went—Lyria dragging him through the city, stopping at market stalls, street performers, and even an underground gambling den hidden beneath a tailor’s shop. They played dice with a group of traveling mercenaries, and to Arjun’s amazement, Lyria walked away with a stack of senecs after expertly outplaying them.

She gave Arjun a few senecs from her winnings. “For good luck,” she said.

He smirked, pocketing it. “You cheated, didn’t you?”

“Maybe. You’ll never know.”

As the night bled into the day and the sun began to set once more, they found themselves at the highest point in the city, perched on the roof of an old watchtower. From there, the view of Crimla was breathtaking—lanterns and torches flickered below like a sea of stars, stretching all the way to the dark silhouette of the thick forests beyond.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. They just sat, side by side, enjoying the stillness of it all.

Then Lyria nudged his shoulder. “So, be honest—did that feel like a first date to you?”

Arjun turned to her, caught off guard. “…A little.”

She laughed. “You’re terrible at lying.”

Arjun rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Well, if that was a date,” Lyria continued, stretching her arms behind her head, “then we should probably do something really stupid to end it properly.”

Arjun gave her a wary look. “Define stupid.”

She hopped to her feet. “Come on, we’re camping in the woods.”

He blinked. “We have a city full of inns.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” She smirked, offering him her hand. “Let’s go.”

Against his better judgment, Arjun took it.

They left the city behind, heading into the dense woods just outside Crimla. The trees swayed with the wind, and the scent of damp earth and pine filled the air. They made camp in a small clearing, setting up a fire using dry branches they found scattered around.

As the fire crackled between them, Lyria leaned back against a fallen log, arms resting behind her head as she gazed at the sky. “You ever wonder what life would be like if things were different?”

Arjun sat across from her, stoking the flames with a stick. “Different how?”

She shrugged. “If you weren’t a bounty hunter. If I wasn’t a ‘street rat’ trying to get to the next day. If there weren’t wars, or ancient artifacts people were willing to kill for. If we could just—live. No running. No fighting. Just… existing.”

Arjun exhaled, looking up at the stars. He had never let himself think about a life beyond all of this. Beyond Ringo. Beyond the hunt.

But now, sitting here in the quiet of the woods, with nothing but the fire between them and the night stretching endlessly above, he wondered.

Maybe—just maybe—there could be something more.

But not yet.

For now, he had a mission.

And as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he wasn’t ready to let go of the fight just yet.

Lyria’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Don’t go getting all serious on me now, bounty hunter.”

He smirked. “Too late.”

She sighed dramatically. “Ugh, and I thought this was going well.”

He chuckled, shaking his head before lying back against the grass, arms behind his head.

For now, at least, he could let himself enjoy the moment.

She laid down beside him, her face just centimeters from his, the firelight flickering in her eyes. “This was fun though, right?”

Arjun turned onto his side, meeting her gaze. “It was… I’ve never done anything like it before.”

Lyria smiled, her fingers grazing the space between them. “What do you normally do for fun?”

He hesitated, searching for an answer he didn’t have. “I don’t really make time for fun,” he admitted. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to be the best at what I do.”

A slow, knowing smile played on her lips as she inched closer, their noses nearly touching. “You’ve never even thought about it?”

Arjun swallowed, his pulse quickening. “Not until now.”

She closed the final gap, her lips hovering just above his. Her breath was warm against his face. “Did you like it?”

His breath caught in his throat. “I did.”

Her fingers trailed along his jaw, tilting his face ever so slightly toward hers. “Then kiss me.”

Arjun didn’t hesitate. Their lips met in a slow, burning embrace, tasting the honeyed sweetness of mead still lingering on her tongue. The world around them faded, the crackling fire, the distant hum of nocturnal creatures—all swallowed by the intoxicating closeness of her body against his.

Her fingers slid into his hair, pulling him closer as their kiss deepened, tongues teasing, exploring. Arjun’s hands traced the curve of her waist, the soft warmth of her body igniting a fire inside him that he’d never allowed himself to feel before.

His hands roamed her back, feeling the heat of her skin beneath his fingertips. She pressed into him, deepening the kiss, her body molding to his. Their breaths grew heavier, mingling in the cool night air, their movements slow, unhurried, yet electric with anticipation.

Lyria’s hands wandered beneath his shirt. Her touch was light at first, gliding over the taut muscles of his stomach, then bolder as she dragged her nails up his chest. His breath hitched as her fingers explored him, mapping every ridge and scar. They were exploring with a hunger that sent shivers down his spine. 

With a playful tug, she lifted his shirt over his head, breaking the kiss just long enough to rid him of the fabric. She took a moment to admire him, running her hands over his bare skin, feeling the tension beneath his surface. Then, she leaned in again, pressing open-mouthed kisses down the line of his jaw, the column of his throat, the plane of his chest, each one sending more shivers through him. 

Arjun groaned as her lips traveled lower, his body aching for her in ways he barely understood. He reached for her, but she pinned his wrists down, her smirk teasing against his skin. “Not yet,” she murmured before capturing his lips again.

She shifted, straddling him, the press of her body against his almost unbearable. He could feel the heat radiating from her, the slow, deliberate glide of her hips against his. He was completely lost in her, in the way she moved, the way she looked at him like she was drinking in every reaction he gave. He had spent his life with discipline, restraint—but now, all of it unraveled beneath her touch.

His hands found the hem of her shirt, fingers brushing along the soft skin beneath before slowly lifting it over her head. The firelight bathed her in a golden glow, highlighting every curve. Arjun stared, mesmerized, before she pulled him upright, their bodies flush as they found each other’s lips once more.

Her fingers made quick work of the fastenings on his pants, and he let out a ragged breath as she slid them down, her hands teasing over the growing hardness beneath. His pulse pounded as she explored him, his body tensing with every slow, torturous touch.

Lyria let out a soft laugh, clearly enjoying the way he reacted to her. She moved against him, dragging her warmth along his length, her breath hitching at the sensation. 

She rocked with a slow and torturous rhythm that left him breathless. His hands found her waist, gripping her as if she might disappear with the wind. The tension between them coiled tight, an unspoken promise hanging in the air, a pull neither of them wanted to resist.

She leaned in, her lips at his ear. “Are you sure?”

His only answer was a desperate kiss, his hands sliding down her back, pulling her closer.

And then, with a sigh that was half a whisper, half a moan, she guided him into her.

A sharp inhale. A rush of warmth. A moment suspended in time.

For a moment, the world around them disappeared, lost in the sensation of joining, of heat and need and something deeper, something neither of them dared put into words.

She moved, slow at first, savoring every centimeter of him, and he met her rhythm, their bodies locked in a fevered dance beneath the open sky. Moans and whispered names mingled with the crackle of the fire, with the rustling of the trees, with the beating of two hearts racing toward something neither of them had ever known before.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

Their bodies moved in perfect harmony, an instinctual rhythm that neither had known before but understood as if it had always been a part of them. The night wrapped around them like a veil, the stars flickering above, the firelight painting their skin in golden hues.

Arjun gripped her waist, pulling her down onto him as she took him deeper, her movements slow and deliberate, drawing out every sensation. He felt overwhelmed, intoxicated by her warmth, by the way she moved, by the sounds that slipped from her lips like whispered secrets only he was meant to hear.

But then—something shifted.

His vision blurred for a fraction of a second, a strange heat coursing through his body. And then, suddenly, everything felt… different.

He blinked, and in that instant, he wasn’t looking up at her anymore—he was above her. His perspective had changed, but more than that, his body had changed. He could feel everything—her breath catching in his throat, the weight of his own hands pressing against his waist, the way his body pulsed and ached in a way that was completely foreign yet undeniable.

Panic flickered in his mind, but their bodies never stopped moving, drawn by the primal need that still burned between them. Lyria’s—no, his—eyes widened as pleasure surged through him, intense and unfamiliar. It built too fast, cresting into something uncontrollable.

And then—release.

A gasp, a shuddering cry—Arjun felt everything, a wave of pleasure so overwhelming that it made his vision go white for a moment. And just as suddenly as it had begun, the strange sensation pulled back, like a cord snapping them both into place.

With a sharp inhale, Arjun found himself back in his own body, chest heaving, sweat clinging to his skin. Lyria collapsed beside him, staring at the sky in disbelief, her own breathing ragged.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, Lyria let out a breathless laugh, her voice laced with lingering pleasure and sheer bewilderment. “Damn… what the fuck was that?”

Arjun swallowed hard, his mind still struggling to catch up. He turned his head to look at her, his heartbeat still thundering in his ears. “I—I don’t know…”

She laughed again, shaking her head. “I don’t know what the fuck just happened, but that was—” she stopped, biting her lip as she searched for the words.

Arjun exhaled heavily, running a hand through his damp hair. “Insane?”

Lyria turned her head, meeting his gaze. A slow grin spread across her lips. “Yeah… but in a good way.”

A quiet chuckle escaped him, still breathless, still shaken. His fingers brushed against hers, an unspoken acknowledgment passing between them. Whatever had just happened, it was unlike anything they had ever experienced before.

And deep down, Arjun knew—it meant something.

They laid together beneath the open sky, tangled in each other’s warmth, the night air cool against their bare skin. The fire had dwindled to glowing embers, casting a soft, flickering glow over their bodies. Lyria rested her head against Arjun’s chest, tracing idle patterns across his skin with her fingertips.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Arjun allowed himself to relax. No bounties. No Keepers. No secrets. Just the quiet hum of the night, the steady rise and fall of their breathing, and the feeling of being exactly where he was meant to be.

His eyelids grew heavy as the rhythmic beat of her heart against his lulled him into the deepest sleep he’d had in forever.

Arjun awoke to the sun cresting over the horizon, its golden light filtering through the trees. He blinked against the brightness, groggy and content—until he reached for Lyria and felt nothing but the chilled earth beside him.

His breath caught.

He sat up abruptly, scanning the clearing. The smoldering remnants of their fire still sent up faint tendrils of smoke, but Lyria was gone.

So was his satchel.

His chest tightened as a sick realization set in. The Shaft of Crux.

No, no, no…

He threw off his blanket, scrambling to his feet, his heart hammering against his ribs. His clothes and gamas were still where he had left them, untouched—only his satchel had been taken. He dressed in hurried, frantic motions, securing his weapons before spinning on his heel, searching the ground.

Footprints.

Small, quick, leading away from the clearing and deeper toward the city.

He bolted after them, dodging low-hanging branches, his mind racing just as fast as his feet.

How could I have been so stupid?

Ringo had entrusted him with the Shaft. Ringo had risked everything to make sure it didn’t fall into the wrong hands.

And he had let his guard down.

A sharp pang of something bitter and unwanted stabbed through his gut. Was any of it real? Had she planned this all along, or had she simply seen an opportunity and taken it?

The trees thinned, giving way to the outskirts of Crimla. Arjun slowed, keeping to the shadows as he spotted a familiar figure in the distance.

Lyria.

She moved with purpose, her pace quickened, her eyes locked ahead. His satchel was slung over her shoulder, the weight of the storage cube was undeniable.

Arjun’s gaze flickered forward, following her path. The nearby mew.

The Crimlins trained their falcons there—keen-eyed hunters capable of delivering messages and scouting terrain with unmatched precision. But in recent years, as the Zhang War loomed ever closer, their purpose had shifted. More and more, these birds were being officially used for the military, but some were also being secretly used for smuggling, and black-market dealings.

In Gorea, where senecs often spoke louder than laws, a falconer wouldn’t think twice about handling contraband.

But the Shaft of Crux? That was no ordinary artifact.

Arjun’s stomach turned as realization hit him like a freight train. She was selling it.

His grip tightened around the chain of his gama.

He didn’t think. He just moved.

With a flick of his wrist, his gama shot through the air, the chain coiling around Lyria’s ankle like a serpent. She barely had time to gasp before Arjun yanked hard, sending her sprawling into the brush at the edge of the forest.

She hit the ground with a startled cry, the satchel slipping from her grasp.

Arjun stormed toward her, his breath ragged, his body trembling—not just with exertion, but with something dangerously close to heartbreak.

Lyria coughed, spitting dirt as she pushed herself up onto her elbows, her wide eyes locking onto his.

“Arjun—” she started.

“Don’t,” he bit out, his voice low and sharp. “You don’t get to say my name like that.”

She flinched.

Arjun loomed over her, his fists clenched at his sides, his chest rising and falling in rapid, uneven breaths. He wanted to scream. He wanted to demand answers. But more than anything—he wanted to know why. 

Why had she done it? Had anything between them been real? Or was he just another fool, another mark, another name to add to her list of people she had deceived?

The fire in his gut burned, but beneath it, something else lingered. Something that hurt.

Arjun’s chest ached, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. His grip tightened around his gama, the metal creaking under the pressure. He wanted to yell, to curse, to demand to know if any of it had meant anything to her. But the raw truth was already written all over her face—apology mixed with resignation, like she knew she was never meant to be the kind of person he wanted her to be.

“You don’t even know what you took, do you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, but laced with fire.

Lyria hesitated, then glanced at the satchel. “It’s a box. I figured it was some kind of weapon—”

Arjun let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “That’s not the artifact. The artifact is inside the box.” He took a step closer, his presence looming over her like a storm about to break. “You stole the Shaft of Crux.”

Her expression changed in an instant. Panic flickered in her wide eyes. “Wait—what?”

“You heard me.” His voice was razor-sharp. “The fucking Shaft of Crux.”

Lyria got up and took a step back, running a hand through her hair. “I—Shit, Arjun. I didn’t know. If I’d known, I never would’ve taken it.”

“Oh, but it’s fine if it was anything else?” His voice rose, the betrayal bleeding through. “That’s your line? The world-ending artifact is off-limits, but everything else is fair game?”

Lyria exhaled heavily, looking away. “I told you, I’m a survivor. That’s all I know how to be.”

Arjun scoffed, disgust curling in his stomach. “So what was last night, huh? Just a game to you? You get me to drop my guard, make me think—” He stopped himself, jaw clenching, unwilling to say it out loud.

Lyria’s lips parted like she wanted to say something—maybe an excuse, maybe the truth—but before she could, Arjun caught movement from the corner of his eye.

A figure in dark robes, stepping out of Crimla’s crowded streets towards the mew.

His breath hitched.

The same robes Rickart had worn outside the Soulchaser.

The Keepers of Crux had tracked him.

And now, they were here.

Arjun’s anger melted into ice-cold fear. He had no time for betrayal, no time for heartbreak. Survival was the only thing that mattered.

“Shit.” His hand shot to his satchel, yanking it off the ground. “We have to go. Now.”

Lyria’s brows furrowed. “What? What’s going on?”

“We’re being hunted.”

Before she could question him further, he grabbed her wrist and ran.

But it was too late.

A shadow moved through the trees, flickering between worlds like a specter. Arjun caught glimpses—slits of glowing yellow eyes, puffs of curling black smoke—as Marcus Trust pursued them. He wasn’t running. He was appearing, stepping in and out of the abyss, closing the distance in terrifying bursts.

“Where are we going?!” Lyria yelled, breath ragged as Arjun dragged her through the thick underbrush of the Crimlin Forest.

“I don’t know! Back to the city! Ringo said they wouldn’t draw attention to themselves!”

Marcus was closing in. His abyssal void flickered ahead of them, his form blinking in and out of existence. The air grew heavy, thick with the weight of his presence.

And then—he was there. Right in front of them.

Arjun skidded to a halt, yanking Lyria behind him.

Marcus stood motionless, his expression unreadable. Slowly, deliberately, he reached for his dagger—a wicked thing of polished steel, its golden handle gleaming with embedded gems. His fingers curled around it, caressing the weapon like an old friend.

Then he smiled, a slow, sinister stretch of lips that sent a cold shiver down Arjun’s spine.

“You’ve run far enough.”

Arjun didn’t hesitate. He pulled Lyria close, tightening his grip around her waist. “Hold on.”

With a flick of his wrist, his gama shot skyward, wrapping around the thick branch of an oak.

Marcus lunged. And missed—by a breath.

Arjun and Lyria soared upward, weightless for a moment, escaping Marcus’ grasp by centimeters. They landed behind him, their feet hitting the earth in a sprint, taking off without looking back.

Marcus let out an irritated grunt. “Enough of this.”

Arjun barely heard him. Through the thinning trees, he caught glimpses of civilization—the hazy glow of lanterns, the distant smoke of roasting meat. They were close. If they could just make it to the streets, they’d be safe.

Or so he hoped.

They let go of each other, sprinting for the treeline. Arjun’s heart pounded as the city’s edge came into view.

Then something yanked hard at his satchel.

He stumbled back, nearly falling. Marcus’ fingers curled around the strap, his grip unrelenting.

Instinct took over. Arjun swung his gama in a wide arc, the blade slicing clean across Marcus’ face.

For a split second, there was silence. Then, the wound ripped open. But there was no blood. No bone. Only void.

A black, gaping emptiness split Marcus from cheek to cheek. But even as Arjun watched, frozen in horror, the wound sealed itself—the darkness pulling back together like a living thing.

Marcus smirked.

“You’ll have to try harder than that, boy.”

He yanked Arjun forward, snatching him like prey in the jaws of a wolf. Arjun struggled, kicking against his hold, but Marcus was too strong.

His eyes flickered to the storage cube’s outline in Arjun’s satchel.

“Is this where you’ve been keeping the Shaft?” His grip tightened, his fingers already working to pry open the bag.

Before Arjun could respond—

Thwip. Thwip. Thwip.

Three silver knives sliced through the air, aimed straight for Marcus’ head.

Marcus released Arjun, jerking back just in time to dodge. But the moment his grip loosened, Lyria was there.

She lunged—fast, precise—her boot aimed for his throat.

Marcus vanished.

Lyria’s foot hit nothing.

She crashed to the ground, rolling instinctively before springing back up. Her chest heaved, but her grip on her remaining knives never faltered.

“Just run!” she screamed.

Arjun didn’t need to be told twice.

He grabbed her arm, pulling her forward as he fired his gama at the highest tree branch he could reach. The chain wrapped tight. With one final yank, they soared into the air, and crashed down onto the crowded streets of Crimla.

The world erupted around them—voices, footsteps, the scent of spice and smoke. The city swallowed them whole.

Marcus Trust strolled toward them with unhurried confidence, his dagger concealed beneath his robes, his glowing yellow eyes hidden beneath the hood. He wove through the bustling marketplace like a shadow, undeterred, inevitable.

Marcus stopped centimeters away, his breath hot against Arjun’s ear.

“You put up a good chase, boy,” he murmured, voice smooth as silk, lethal as a blade. “You could walk away from this. Live a long, happy life. Marry your girl.” He tilted his head toward Lyria. “Settle down. Don’t die for an overrated asshole like Ringo Fischer.”

Arjun clenched his jaw. “Who’s to say I have what you’re looking for?”

Marcus exhaled sharply, annoyed. “Do you understand that this is your one and only chance to get out of this alive? Ringo’s on trial before the Lost God himself. He’s already defeated. Whatever plan he had is dead. You think you can take on an army of gods alone?”

Following Ringo’s strategy, Arjun remained calm, his voice even. “Well, that’s a real shame. Because I don’t have it.” His eyes flicked to the passing civilians. “So what’s it gonna be? Are you gonna cause a scene? Should I start yelling about the Keepers of Crux? About their little secret war? Or are you just gonna let me be on my way?”

Marcus rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. “Judas can’t say I didn’t try.” His voice dropped to a whisper, low and venomous. “Just know—your loyalty to that dog will be your demise.”

Then he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Arjun stood frozen, his pulse hammering in his ears. Lyria’s voice cut through the fog.

“What the fuck was that?”

Arjun exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “A Keeper of Crux,” he muttered. Then, louder, as the anger flooded back in, he snapped, “But why do you care? Go. I’ll clean up this mess myself.”

He turned on his heel, but she was after him in an instant.

“Hey, wait! I said I was sorry!”

Arjun ignored her, striding through the city streets with his fists clenched.

She caught his shoulder, spinning him to face her. “I saved you back there. That creep was after me too. This is my fight now.”

“Fight it on your own, then.” Arjun yanked free. “I’ll do the same.”

Lyria grabbed him again. “Arjun, I meant everything I said since we ran into each other at the tavern.” Her voice softened, her grip loosening. “Last night was… special. I’ve never felt this way with anyone. But I can’t get attached. And neither can you.”

Arjun scoffed. “Oh, so you stole my stuff so I’d hate you? Great plan. Executed perfectly.”

Lyria winced but didn’t back down. “I needed the money to pay off a debt so I could leave town. I figured I’d be long gone before you ever knew.” She sighed. “I am sorry.”

Before Arjun could respond, a thunder of boots pounded against the cobblestone.

A full decan of Aenean soldiers stormed toward them, rifles raised. The crowd erupted into chaos—shouts, hurried footsteps, people shoving past, desperate to get out of the way. Within seconds, Arjun and Lyria were surrounded in a tight circle of loaded barrels.

The Decanus, a grizzled veteran with a jagged scar cutting across his nose, stepped forward, leveling his rifle at Arjun’s chest. “With the power vested in me by Emperor Alpheus II, you are under arrest for treason against the Aenean Empire.”

Lyria didn’t hesitate.

She screamed—a high, piercing wail—tears welling in her eyes as she bolted toward one of the soldiers. “Please! Help me!” she sobbed. “This man—he was trying to kidnap me!”

The soldier hesitated, lowering his rifle just slightly.

And in that instant, Lyria struck.

She lunged forward, seizing the soldier’s gun with lightning-fast reflexes. Before the others could react, she twisted, and fired three quick shots. Three soldiers collapsed, dead before they hit the ground.

Arjun moved.

He ducked as the remaining soldiers fired back. Lyria twisted, using the stunned soldier as a human shield, absorbing the bullets meant for her.

Arjun swept low, his gama flashing in a blur of tyran and chain. He hooked a soldier’s legs and yanked—the man hit the ground hard, his head smacking against the stone.

Five still stood—but more were coming, storming in from the side streets.

Lyria’s voice cut through the chaos. “Run!”

Arjun swung his gama wide, forcing the soldiers back before bolting after her.

Then—more troops flooded in from ahead, cutting off their escape. They were trapped.

Tyran surged through Arjun’s body, his flesh hardening into impenetrable metal. His gamas sagged into soft flesh, the trade-off necessary.

“Hide in the alley!” He pointed between two buildings. “I’ll handle this.”

Lyria didn’t hesitate—she vanished into the shadows.

The soldiers opened fire.

Bullets ricocheted off Arjun’s skin, clinking uselessly against the cobblestone streets. He took a slow, deliberate step forward. The gunfire faltered. Soldiers exchanged nervous glances, hands tightening around their triggers.

One soldier, desperate, raised his rifle point-blank to Arjun’s head.

He fired.

The bullet bounced—striking the soldier’s eye. He collapsed in a heap.

The others froze.

Arjun exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders. “Well?” he taunted, spreading his arms wide. “What now?”

The Decanus gritted his teeth. “Stand down! We have you outnumbered.”

Arjun smirked. “And what are you gonna do? Waste your ammo on me?”

As if on command, the ground trembled with the pounding of hooves.

From the city streets, boar riders stormed into view—hulking beasts clad in thick steel armor, their spiked tusks gleaming under the sun. The mounted soldiers gripped long rifles, their eyes locked on Arjun.

The infantry stepped aside, letting the riders charge.

Arjun braced.

The lead boar barreled toward him at full speed. Arjun caught the tusks mid-charge, his fingers digging into the reinforced steel plating. The force sent him skidding backward, his heels carving trenches into the stone road.

With a growl, he twisted—the boar swung like a wrecking ball, crashing into a cluster of soldiers.

The two riders behind it yanked their reins, stopping dead in their tracks. Their eyes flickered between their fallen comrades and the man who had just thrown a fully armored war boar like it was nothing.

Arjun grinned. “Still think you got me outnumbered?”

The Decanus snapped out of his shock. “Form a perimeter! He doesn’t leave this block!”

Soldiers scrambled, blocking every possible exit. They had him cornered.

“Arjun!” Lyria’s voice rang from the alley.

He backed away, keeping his gaze locked on the soldiers until he melted into the shadows beside her.

“What?” he hissed.

She took a breath. “Can you still—switch our bodies? Or is that something you can only do while you’re inside me?”

He faltered. If his body wasn’t metal, he would have blushed.

“Uh… yeah, I think so. I don’t know. That was—uh—kind of a first for me.”

Lyria smirked, despite everything. “Well, if you can…” She peeked out, glancing at the soldiers. “Give me your body. Take the Shaft out of the box and give it to me. I’ll lead them and your creepy stalker away. You slip out and finish your mission.”

Arjun hesitated.

“Do it.”

He exhaled. “Fine. But be careful.”

She scoffed. “Same to you.” Then, softer, “when you’re done, meet me back at Jager’s. We’ll switch back then.”

Arjun let the tyran recede from his skin, the metal flowing back into his gamas. He grabbed Lyria’s face, locking eyes with her like he had the night before.

For a moment, despite everything, he still felt that connection. But there was no time for hesitation.

He focused—like shifting material into his flesh, like he had done before.

And switched.

Arjun blinked. His body felt… different. Lighter. Smaller. His balance shifted.

Then he looked down and immediately noticed his cleavage.

Lyria, now in his body, flexed her fingers. “Huh.” She rolled her shoulders, adjusting to the height difference. “Looks like it worked.”

She handed him his gamas and satchel.

Arjun pulled the Shaft of Crux out of the storage cube, tucking it back into the satchel before giving it to her. “Seriously, be careful. That Keeper isn’t someone to fuck around with.”

Lyria shrugged. “My entire life has been running from big scary people. I think I can manage.” She flexed her—his—biceps. “Especially with this body.”

Despite his anger, Arjun pulled her—himself?—into a tight hug.

“I’ll see you in a few days,” he murmured.

Lyria hugged him back, squeezing her own body tighter. “Get there safe, Arjun.”

With that, Arjun, now in Lyria’s body, moved.

Arjun’s gama shot upward, hooking onto the rooftop of the nearby building. With a sharp yank, he vaulted through the air, the city sprawling beneath him in a sea of flickering lanterns and winding alleyways. The moment his feet touched ground, he moved again, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, slipping into the Crimlin skyline like a shadow.

Making it out of the city was the easy part. The hard part was what lay ahead. Over fifty kilometers through Gorean wilderness, alone.

Arjun followed Ringo’s instructions as best as he could. He moved swiftly, stopping only when exhaustion threatened to collapse him. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, he reached the edge of the Zornic Forest.

The towering Zornic trees loomed above him, their blackened bark twisting toward the sky like skeletal fingers. The place felt wrong—too quiet, too still, like the world itself was holding its breath.

He built a fire, curling up beneath Lyria’s tattered cloak. For four restless hours, he slept under the stars, the embers of his fire crackling in the heavy silence. Then, with the first hints of dawn, he packed up and pressed east.

After several hours, the air shifted. The scent hit him all at once. A stench so foul it made his stomach lurch—rotting meat, decay, pestilence. Ringo was right. Follow the stench.

He forced himself forward, covering his nose with the fabric of Lyria’s cloak. The deeper he went, the stronger the smell became. Until finally, he saw it—a cave, gaping like the mouth of a great beast. Bones littered the ground at the entrance. Some were unmistakably human.

Arjun swallowed hard. This is it. Steeling himself, he stepped inside. The darkness swallowed him whole.

The air was damp, heavy with the reek of things long dead. His boots crunched over brittle bones. Further in, a dim glow flickered ahead—firelight barely illuminating a vast chamber.

He stepped forward, and his breath caught.

The floor was littered with bodies—some with rotting flesh still on the bones, some barely recognizable. Bones piled in heaps, their hollow sockets staring up at him in silent horror. Trinkets and relics were scattered across the cavern like forgotten offerings to something that should not be.

A slow, labored breath rasped from the shadows. “Little girl, you have wandered too far off the beaten path.”

Arjun stiffened. The voice was neither human nor beast, something in-between. Ancient. Rotten.

“I—I’m here for Rhen,” Arjun said, forcing steel into his voice. “Ringo Fischer sent me.”

A dry chuckle echoed through the chamber, bouncing off the damp stone. “Ringo? That old cowboy?” Another wheezing breath. “I knew him when we were still mortal men.”

A shape stirred in the darkness. Two red eyes flickered like dying embers.

“Then you know he wouldn’t send me for no reason,” Arjun said, pulling the Shaft of Crux from underneath Lyria’s cloak. He stepped into the firelight, letting its golden head gleam. “He asked me to bring it here for safekeeping.”

A silence stretched between them.

Then—another rattling laugh. “Ah, so he found it again, did he?” A fit of coughing followed, the sound thick with rot.

“He got into some trouble with the Keepers of Crux,” Arjun explained. “He asked me to—”

“Of course he did.”

From the depths of the cavern, Rhen crawled forward.

Arjun staggered back.

The thing before him wasn’t a man. It used to be. Once.

Now, Rhen was little more than exposed bone, his flesh hanging in decayed tatters, barely keeping his ruined body together. Long, jagged fingers scraped against the stone as he dragged himself forward, his twisted legs utterly useless.

A walking corpse. No—a breathing one.

Arjun fought the bile rising in his throat.

Rhen’s head lolled to the side. “Did he mention my payment? Or… is it you?”

Arjun’s breath caught.

Rhen attempted to stand, but his skeletal frame collapsed with a sickening crunch. His ribs creaked as he forced himself upright, propping his mutilated body against a boulder.

Arjun stepped back. “Uh… Ringo didn’t say anything about a payment. But he did say not to let you touch me.”

Rhen let out a rattling breath. “A wise decision, girl. My hunger consumes me at times… best to keep your distance.”

“Can you keep the Shaft safe or not?”

Rhen clawed his way toward the fire, moving with slow, agonizing effort. “I will. But Ringo knows best… I don’t do anything for free.”

Arjun clenched his jaw. “I have money.”

Rhen laughed. “Money? That’s no good here, girl. I need life. Youth. Strength.” His glowing eyes fixed on Arjun. “I haven’t seen the sun in ages.”

A new but familiar voice echoed from the cave’s entrance. “I’ll do you one better, Rhen.”

Arjun froze.

A shadow stepped into the firelight.

Marcus Trust. And in his grip—Lyria.

Arjun’s body hung limp, barely conscious, her face a mess of bruises and swelling.

Arjun’s blood turned to ice. “Lyria—”

Marcus grinned, his yellow eyes glinting like a predator. He threw her to the ground like a discarded rag.

“These two,” he said smoothly, “for the Shaft.”

Arjun clenched his fists, rage boiling in his gut.

But Rhen only chuckled. “A tempting offer. But I do not make deals with followers of the Lost God.”

Lyria shifted, her one open eye locking onto Arjun. Despite the agony, she smiled.

“Sorry about your body,” she rasped.

Arjun’s stomach twisted.

Bruised, broken, dragged here through the night—because of him.

He didn’t hesitate.

He dropped to his knees, throwing his gamas to the ground beside him, and grabbed her—his—face. In an instant, they switched.

Agony slammed into Arjun like a tidal wave.

A skull-splitting headache. The fire in his ribs. The sharp sting of every bruise, every wound.

Pain. Pain.

Lyria gasped, flexing her uninjured fingers—back in her own body.

Marcus tilted his head, intrigued. “Well. That’s new.”

Rhen leaned forward, red eyes narrowing. “Interesting…”

Arjun tried to push himself upright, but his arms buckled, sending him crashing back down to the dirt and bones. His body screamed in protest.

Marcus chuckled, stepping closer. “I did go a little hard on you, didn’t I?”

Lyria moved to help him, but he pushed her away, jaw clenched. He needed his strength. He needed to stand.

Gritting his teeth, he reached for his gama, pressing his trembling fingers against the cold metal. The tyran seeped into his flesh, crawling over his body like living armor. His broken bones stabilized, his muscles tightened. The pain remained, but the strength was returning.

Marcus barely paid him any mind. He had already turned his attention to the Shaft of Crux, now resting on the ground.

“Finally.” He bent down, lifting it with reverence, inspecting its ancient engravings. He turned back to Rhen with a smirk. “Well, old corpse, I’d tell you to stop me, but it seems you’re indisposed.” His golden eyes flickered to Arjun. “And you, boy, I warned you. That traitor was your demise. I’ll kill you both and be on my way.”

The tyran had nearly covered his entire body. Arjun exhaled, slow and measured. His fingers curled into fists.

“Arjun.”

Marcus blinked. “What?”

Arjun’s eyes snapped open, blazing with fury.

“My name.”

With a roar, he lunged. His fist crashed into Marcus’ face, sending the assassin staggering backward.

“Is Arjun!”

Marcus barely had time to register the hit before Arjun was on him again.

A second punch slammed into his jaw, then another, forcing him back, blow after blow.

“You insult my partner.”

Another strike.

“You tortured my friend.”

A savage uppercut.

“And you broke my body.”

Marcus flew against the cave wall, the impact cracking stone.

Arjun towered over him, tyran flesh gleaming in the firelight.

“The least you can do,” he growled, drawing back his fist, “is call me by my fucking name!”

He swung—but Marcus disappeared.

Arjun’s punch obliterated the cave wall, sending shards of rock flying.

Marcus appeared behind him in an instant, dagger flashing.

Pain seared through Arjun’s side.

He roared, staggering forward as Marcus yanked the dagger free. The ornate blade, glistening with Arjun’s blood, dripped onto the cavern floor.

Arjun clutched his wound, panting, rage and agony burning in equal measure.

Marcus grinned, spinning the dagger between his fingers. “Tyran flesh isn’t invincible, kid. You’re strong, but you’re still human.”

Arjun wiped blood from his mouth.

Across the chamber, the Shaft of Crux lay abandoned, glinting in the firelight. And now, it was a fight for it. To the victor went the fate of the world.

Lyria darted for the Shaft. Her fingers barely brushed the ancient metal when Marcus materialized before her.

She gasped, stumbling back as he reached for it.

Before his fingers could close around it, Arjun tackled him. They crashed to the ground, rolling through the dirt and bones, grappling in a desperate struggle. Arjun slammed his forearm against Marcus’ throat, pinning him, then drove his head down for a brutal headbutt.

But his skull met only the stone ground.

Marcus vanished, reappearing a meter away, smirking as Arjun staggered forward, dazed.

Lyria snatched up the Shaft and bolted—but Marcus blinked ahead of her again. This time, she wasn’t quick enough. He seized her, an arm locking tight around her neck, yanking her against him. His dagger gleamed as he angled it for a clean, fatal thrust.

Arjun moved.

He caught the blade in his bare hand, the sharpened steel sinking straight through his palm and out the other side.

Tears welled in his eyes. A cry tore from his throat.

Marcus’ eyes widened in surprise, but Arjun held the blade, refusing to let it drive further.

“Run!” Arjun shouted, voice hoarse with pain.

Lyria hesitated only a second before sprinting toward the cave’s entrance, clutching the Shaft to her chest.

Marcus snarled, twisting the dagger, but Arjun pushed forward, forcing him back. Step by step—guiding him exactly where he wanted.

The dagger tore free as Marcus wrenched himself away—but his foot landed inside Rhen’s reach.

Decayed fingers snapped around his ankle.

Marcus screamed.

The life was ripped from him in an instant. His golden eyes went wide in horror as his flesh withered before his own gaze. His once-taut muscles shrank, his skin cracked, his power drained.

Rhen’s own rotted form began to regenerate—flesh knitting together, sunken eyes brightening, his frail limbs regaining mass and strength. A slow, satisfied sigh escaped him as he relished in the stolen vitality.

Marcus’ immortality failed him. His millennia of stolen years unraveled in mere seconds.

His eyes—once glowing yellow—dimmed to brown. The vibrant color of his youth faded into the pale undertones of an aged man. His lips peeled back in a silent, agonized scream as his body crumbled.

And then—he was nothing. Only a brittle, mummified husk remained.

Rhen rolled his shoulders, flexing his hands, drinking in his newfound vigor. “Ahhh… Now that is a worthy payment, Arjun.” He glanced at Arjun, his grin revealing restored, pearly teeth. “That is your name, isn’t it?”

Arjun—still gripping his bleeding hand—nodded. “Yeah.”

Rhen let out a contented breath. “Good. Now, tell Ringo I’ll keep the Shaft safe.” His eyes flicked to the cave entrance. “Your friend has it—have her leave it here. And tell Ringo he has my full support in the war to come.”

“War?” Arjun repeated, chest still heaving.

Rhen chuckled. “Of course. You think he’s doing all this just to hide the Shaft again? That man has been plotting for millennia.”

Arjun’s stomach twisted. “Another Crux War?”

“Indeed. The Keepers have kept him on a short leash since the last, but he was always a rebellious spirit.” 

Arjun grew curious. “Is there anything in Satana that has to do with this upcoming war?”

Rhen pondered, recollecting memories from long ago. “Ah, yes. He’s going to find Tano.”

“Tano?” Arjun’s mind raced, trying to recall the name. “Who is that?”

Rhen studied him, amused. “How well do you know your Aenean history?”

“I’ve read some.”

“She once held the Gem of Death and ruled over Tarkhan. They called her Pharaoh Tanit.”

Arjun tilted his head. “But—Pharaoh Tanit was killed when the Aeneans conquered Tarkhan.”

“That’s what your history books say, yes,” Rhen said, amused. “But she was immortal. The Keepers overthrew her, took back the Gem of Death, and sealed her away in a tomb to rot for eternity.” His grin widened. “But eternity is a long time, boy. And Ringo never lets go of a loose end.”

Rhen stepped past Arjun, flexing his rejuvenated hands, admiring his reflection in the gleaming bone piles. “Now, I suggest you leave. The Keepers will notice soon enough that Marcus has gone missing.” He gave a final stretch and smirked. “And I, for one, plan to make good use of this youth before they come looking.”

“Thanks,” Arjun said quietly, still processing. “Ringo will appreciate your support.”

Rhen laughed, deep and rich with amusement. “Of course he will. Who else can kill an immortal so easily?” He winked. “Now go.”

Arjun emerged from the cave, muscles aching, head pounding. Only the tyran kept him standing.

As the sun hit his eyes, he was immediately struck in the skull by the Shaft.

It bounced off his metal forehead with a loud clunk.

“Shit!” Lyria gasped. “It’s you! I thought—” She rushed forward and hugged him. “I thought that bastard got you.”

Arjun, still dazed, managed to hug her back. “He’s gone.” He pulled away, wincing at his injuries. “I’m sorry he hurt you.”

She scoffed. “Hey, it’s not my body. I’m sorry you have to live with the injuries. I thought I could outrun him.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of everything pressing down on them.

Finally, Arjun sighed. “Thanks for your help. But I have to get out of Gorea before more of them show up.” He motioned to the Shaft. “Leave it at the entrance. Rhen will get it.”

He turned to walk away.

“Wait!” Lyria grabbed his arm. “Where are you going?”

“Satana.” He glanced at the trek ahead of him. “I’ll hide out in Tarkhan until Ringo arrives.”

Lyria hesitated, lips pressing together. “Arjun… I meant what I said before.” Her fingers curled at her sides. “I do like you. A lot. But we both know this—” she motioned between them “—was never going to work.”

Arjun exhaled, his chest aching—not from the bruises or broken ribs, but from something else entirely. “The Shaft is safe. The Keeper is dead. We’re even.” He met her gaze. “Take care of yourself, Lyria.” He turned, stepping into the trees. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Lyria remained still, watching him go. Tears welled in her eyes, but she held them in. She had spent years ensuring she had no ties to anyone. No roots. No weaknesses.

But Arjun… he was different.

She watched him disappear into the trees, then slowly knelt, setting the Shaft at the cave entrance.

Her mind drifted back to their night by the fire. The warmth of his arms. The way he had looked at her, like she was someone worth remembering.

She wished—damn it, she wished—they lived in a world where things could be different.

A world where she and Arjun could just be.

But dreams didn’t change reality.

And reality was a cruel, unforgiving thing.