Chapter 3: Brutal Love Letter

The moment the battle began, the black crest behind Yuniper's soul twisted violently in the air, spitting out jagged spirals of red glyphs that burned into the sky. Her shadow-flesh whipped and convulsed, her form a storm of elongated limbs and ragged strands of cursed hair that moved like sentient blades. She lunged first—her body somersaulting with a whip-crack of dark magic as she corkscrewed toward Kota, her hand carving symbols midair. Red chains of hardened magic spun from her fingers, serrated with sigils, lashing toward him like twin guillotines. Kota dipped low, skidding beneath the slicing force, his new form shimmering with a divine white blaze. "FIRST EMBRACE—uh—WHATEVER THE HELL, DO THE HUG THING!" Lyzelle's voice screamed in his head. Kota twisted, brought both blades across in an X, and whipped them forward. The pink-white chains surged, spiraling like a flaming embrace around Yuniper's torso—and as they snapped shut, petals and lightning exploded from within. The soul shrieked, convulsing midair as her chest caved inwards with the impact.

Kota asked, "How did I do that…? It felt like I had already done it before…"

Lyzelle replied, "Since we're connected, I simply taught your body how to do it through the mind."

"And you named these skills?!"

"Who wouldn't?! I got badass moves."

Kota didn't wait. He vaulted off a slab of scorched stone, spinning in midair, both blades glinting. "Now do the slamma-jamma one! WHIPFALL!" Lyzelle howled gleefully. Kota flung both chained blades upward and yanked them down with a full-body twist. The blades crashed into the earth, forming a massive jagged heart-shaped crater beneath them as violet-pink lightning surged outward in veins, fracturing the battlefield. Yuniper reeled, using one gnarled shadow limb to spring into the air, flipping backward—her black magic now twisting behind her like a cloak. She retaliated mid-somersault, launching a wave of spinning red glyphs like serrated shurikens. Kota braced, crossed both chains into a divine net—each glyph slammed into the defense and shattered, cracking the ground beneath him. Still in motion, he spun the chains and launched into a backward somersault, rebounding off floating debris, twirling like a divine cyclone.

Yuniper's soul descended again, faster now—her movement a grotesque, liquid slither of cursed precision. Her blackened hair spiraled like razors, wrapping around Kota's ankle. "Shit—Kota, drag her! Do the DRAGGY THING!" Lyzelle shouted. Kota gritted his teeth, flipped the grip of one blade, and hurled it around Yuniper's leg, anchoring it midair with pink vow-seals. "BROKEN HALO DRAG!" Lyzelle instructed. 

The chain yanked with celestial fury, slamming her into the ground, searing a divine glyph behind her with every brutal yard she scraped. He spun and vaulted forward, dragging her into a second slam, and then upward—launching her high into a hovering sphere of burning petals and divine lightning. Yuniper's body spiraled wildly, her magic flickering with instability, as her soul howled in fractured tongues. But even as she was airborne, she retaliated—manifesting her own cursed crest mid-sky and hurling crimson spikes downward in a rain of black-red fury.

Kota flared his wings and darted side-to-side in tight corkscrews through the barrage. Some grazed him, slicing across his cheek and shoulder, pink blood mingling with divine flame. "You're BLEEDING CUTE!" Lyzelle teased. "NOW—Vessel of the Dead Vow! One of my favorites. Hit that old ass hag with the boom-slash!" Kota clenched his jaw and shouted as his chains roared with light—Lyzelle's spirit erupted from his back as ethereal flaming wings, and he hurled both blades forward. They carved through the air with surgical chaos, slicing space into ribbons. They shredded through her red glyphs, then her side, then her back. He pulled them back—ripping everything in their return path apart. Yuniper tumbled, crashing through collapsed buildings of the magically reinforced barrier as blood-dark mist bled from her soul.

Breathing heavily, Kota hovered above her. "You're learning fast," Lyzelle purred inside him. "But now let's go for the HEARTBREAKER special—combine Drag and Embrace. Let's make her feel regret." Kota nodded, eyes glowing. He vanished in a trail of sparks—teleporting with a winged dash—appeared behind Yuniper mid-spin, and launched his blades again. One wrapped her leg, the other wrapped her torso. The embrace locked in as the drag began—he spun her like a wheel across the burning battlefield, carving a divine glyph beneath them, and with a final whipcrack, slammed her upward. The chains burst in a dual detonation of divine petals and electrofire. And midair—he pulled both blades inward. They crossed through her chest. A silent pulse echoed out—and the barrier cracked.

The ground ruptured. The magical walls, forged by the guild from earlier—shattered like glass. 

Everyone ducked as the divine blast consumed the arena in swirling pink-white destruction. As the petals and firelight settled, Kota stood in the heart of it all—his body still shining, face covered in cuts and blood, blades lowered. Before him, Yuniper's soul knelt, her edges fraying like burning cloth. Her face was mournful, hollow, yet eerily peaceful as her form began to rise, fragment, and dissolve into the sky like distant ash returning to the stars. She said nothing. There was nothing left to say.

Kota didn't even blink. His blades remained drawn, his eyes narrowed. All he did… was breathe. For the first time… like someone with power. The arena around him was silent, the crowd stunned.

The wind was still laced with firelight and falling embers when Kota's form began to dim. The pink-white glow around his body flickered like the last heartbeat of a dying star, and his wings dissolved into drifting ash. Lyzelle stood beside him, blindfold back on, blood trailing in a thin, elegant line down her cheek from underneath the cloth. Her body language was relaxed, almost casual, but there was an edge of reverence to how she looked at him—like watching someone crawling out of their own grave. 

Kota, breathing hard, staggered slightly before planting his blades into the ground to keep upright. The chains rattled faintly, and the last of his power faded into the cracked soil.

"All my life…" Kota began, voice raw, like something had finally been dislodged from his ribs. "I thought I was cursed. Every time I tried to do something right—something small even—it went to hell. I wasn't even good enough to fight with the real Hunters. I carried their gear. I cleaned their boots. I followed them into danger just to feel close to something meaningful. Just to trick myself into thinking I had a place." He looked up slightly, not at anyone, but past them. His expression wasn't bitter, just worn. "And every day, I kept asking myself: What is wrong with me?"

He exhaled and shook his head. "Affinity roses. I watched Hunters go through them. You tie your soul to a god's and either come back a miracle or not at all. Most don't. I never even tried. I was too scared. Because people like me… we always land on the dying end of fate." The crowd listened in silence. Some looked down. Others looked haunted. And still, Kota kept talking. "But today, I felt power. Real power. And yeah, I'm still scared. Even now. Because power doesn't change the way the world treats you—it just changes how hard it hits back." His voice trembled slightly, his fists curling tighter around the chains. "But I'm gonna embrace it. Even if it turns me into a monster. Even if it makes people afraid of me, or hate me… I don't wanna lose who I am. Because deep down, I still wanna believe I can fix something."

He looked down at the melting skeleton of Yuniper, voice lowering. "I used to think witches were just monsters. But now I think… maybe most of them started out like me. Broken. Hurt. Pushed into the dark until it felt warm. So no—I'm not ending up like those monsters." His gaze burned. "I'll use what I've got. I'll change fate. Even if I have to carve the story with my own damn hands."

Then, A glimmer of movement caught his eye. The soul of Yuniper was still half-there, her face now reverted—beautiful, soft, eerily familiar. She cooed gently, like honey in his ear, "Kota… don't you remember? I was yours, I loved you. You were mine." Kota didn't say a word. He made one of the chained blades shoot forward like a whip, impaling through her face with surgical cruelty. The chain pulled tight with a final flick of his wrist—her soul screaming one last time before it erupted into smoke and memory, vanishing like a dying curse. On the ground, Yuniper's real body finished melting, leaving only a pristine, blackened skeleton.

Lyzelle knelt beside the remains, poking at the ribs before finding a dense, pulsing black crystal in the center of the bones. She plucked it out like she was stealing a core from a fallen beast and inspected it with a mix of curiosity and disdain. "A heartstone," she said. "That means she was definitely high ranking. Or really pathetic. Or both. That's… honestly so witchy of her."

"That was insane," one of the adventurers murmured behind them. "I thought we were gonna die in there."

The crowd nearby erupted in cheers and claps, saying:

"They did it.."

"Of course they did. The witch stood no chance against a Cupid."

But then, Kota collapsed face-first into the dirt.

Lyzelle stood over him, nudged him with her foot. "Dead?" No response. She blinked twice. "Damn. Bury him I guess."

"HE'S BREATHING!" a nearby healer shouted, pointing.

"Oh!" Lyzelle clapped, delighted. "That's a relief. Would've been awkward for my new bond to die already. He's got my soul in there and everything. Technically, if he dies, I might die. Or combust. Or turn into a bird."

The sun was setting behind them now, casting orange light across the ruins of the battlefield. And as the wind rolled over the ash, all eyes remained on Kota—powerful, vulnerable, and no longer invisible.

….

The dream was quiet at first.

A younger Kota stood alone in the wilderness, his small frame wrapped in worn cloth and dirt-stained bandages. The wind howled between the trees, and in his hands were two uneven sticks, wrapped at the ends with scraps of cloth to mimic blades. He practiced in the clearing—again and again—slashes, stabs, dodges, footwork. His movements were stiff, awkward, lacking flow, but determined. Each failed swing stung his arms. Each misstep sent him into the dirt. Blood trickled from his palms where the stick had bitten into torn skin. The pain made his breaths sharp, but he didn't cry. He just kept trying—until he couldn't anymore.

Collapsing near a tree root, Kota finally dropped the sticks. His shoulders trembled as he sat up slowly, his knees scraped raw, knuckles bruised purple, fingers trembling with exhaustion. His eyes flicked to the distance where an affinity flower bloomed like a cursed star—a glowing bud of divinity trembling on its stalk. Even as a child, the thought of touching it made his heart seize. Power like that? It never felt like it belonged to him.

He limped back to his hideout—a small wooden shelter suspended between trees, held up by rope and stubbornness. Inside, he sat near a dying fire, arms on his knees, blood running down his knuckles. The forest outside chirped and hissed, but Kota was still. Silent. Not angry. Not sad. Just… empty.

Then, his eyes blinked open. He had woken up.

'Where am I…?'

A warm, flickering glow filled his vision—candlelight. He was lying on a modest bed inside a wooden room, wrapped in wool and blankets. Bandages covered parts of his body, tight but not painful. He winced as he sat up, groggy and confused. Faint cheering and shouting filtered through the walls like muffled thunder. He glanced around, then spotted it—resting on the nightstand beside him: a folded note with a small, childishly drawn heart. The front read in messy lettering: Kota, from Lyzelle (Cupid, obviously).

He opened it, eyes scanning the chaotic and sloppy handwriting:

Okay, so Cupid language is way more elegant than this garbage, but apparently writing in celestial script burns mortal eyes or something, and your dumb mortal eyes are already half-dead so I had to use this ugly language. It's exhausting. Anyway—

WE. NEED. TO. TALK.

You and I are now contractually (and soulfully, cosmically) bound. There are rules. There are powers. There are consequences. Stop freaking out. You didn't die, which is amazing because you looked like a limp noodle corpse for a good ten minutes. I almost cried. Well, I did cry. But only because I thought I was gonna have to drag your body across the continent to find a necromancer to puppeteer your corpse into fighting with me.

If you EVER scare me like that again, I will make you wish for a quick death. I will stuff your soul into a cursed cat statue and trap you in a tiny box with a lonely bard who only speaks in poems. I will personally shove you into a pit of sweaty ogres doing group yoga. I will use your teeth as dice. I will–

:)

From Lyzelle, The Most Beautiful Cupid

Kota just stared at the note, blinking. "What the hell is wrong with her…?"

'But there's no denying she saved me. Even if she may be a little psychotic. She smelled good, and she even kissed me which was only to slap a contract on my soul. What would my parents say if they saw me like this if I ever found them? Would I even try looking for them? For what? To ask them why they screwed me over to a volcano? Tch. It's whatever. I'm strong now, I won't have to worry about much anymore. It's a relief. I'm glad I met this Cupid. Glad she pierced Yuniper through the face. It was still traumatizing though. It's not like I haven't seen death or brutality before, I carried the luggage of Hunters a lot. But this time it was different. Out of nowhere. Unexpectedly. One thing led to another, I didn't think I would kill my first witch.'

The moment he stood up, the warm scent of food and spice hit his nose—roasted meat, seasoned potatoes, fried greens, and sweet mead. Voices and laughter echoed louder now, and when he opened the wooden door, the noise hit him full-force.

The pub was chaos.

Adventurers shouted across the tavern, tables cluttered with food, mugs, and piles of glimmering reng. A betting circle had formed around the center where a table looked like it was barely holding together—and at it, Lyzelle was arm wrestling Blight. Pebble and Merrythorn stood behind Blight, dramatically cheering him on like he was a war hero, throwing compliments that bordered on religious praise.

"CRUSH HER, BLIGHT! YOU'RE A GOD!"

"YOU COULD PUNCH THE MOON AND WIN!"

"YOUR FOREARMS HAVE FOREARMS!"

Meanwhile, Lyzelle was openly laughing at him, grinning wide, toying with the match. "Oh nooo~ I'm so weak~" she sang mockingly. "Look at you go, Big Strong Hunter~ Did your arms always shake this much when holding girls' hands, or am I special~?"

Bets were being shouted. Coins exchanged. Someone called for three more kegs of mead.

Then—slam.

Blight went flying through the table in a burst of splinters.

Everyone froze as Lyzelle suddenly snapped her head toward the hallway. "HE'S UP!!" she screamed, launching over what was left of the table and bursting through the crowd with her hair flying behind her.

Kota barely had time to flinch before she tackled him in a full-body hug, laughing like a maniac. "YOU'RE NOT DEAD!"

"ACK! Obviously!" Kota exclaimed.

"You read my letter?"

"The one where you were threatening me? Yes. All of it."

"Is that so? So try hard not to die please."

"Counting on it, Cupid."

The flickering chaos of the pub slowly began to ebb as the staff emerged from the back, brushing flour and sawdust from their aprons as they spotted Kota standing near the tavern hall. The first to approach was a tall, quiet man named Brell, his arms thick with old scars from beasts and burns, his grey hair tied into a neat bun. Brell had been the tavern's head cook for years, and his eyes, usually calm and unreadable, now shimmered faintly with guilt. Beside him walked Drenna, a short, sharp-eyed woman with wild red curls and soot-smudged cheeks, the bar's repairmaster and brewer. Her apron was stained with cider and ink.

"Kota," Brell said, folding his arms but not meeting his eyes. "Glad you're alive, kid."

"We…we're sorry," Drenna added, voice quieter than usual.

Kota blinked, still sore, confused. "For what?"

'Wait..this is the pub Yuniper worked at...'

They exchanged a glance. Drenna answered, "Yuniper worked here for over a year. She was kind. Polite. Sometimes too quiet, sure, but we never thought… We should've seen it. Maybe if we had, she wouldn't have—"

Kota shook his head. "It's not your fault." His voice was hoarse but firm. "You didn't make her into what she became. That's… this world and the witches that came with it. Not you."

'They shouldn't even be apologizing. Witches are good at hiding in plain sight. Everyone knows this. I could be a witch and not know it, that's how sneaky those bastards are.'

Before they could respond, a loud clang of a mug on a table echoed across the pub.

"Kota, right?!" boomed a man in heavy fur armor, his teeth gold-plated and grinning. He stood flanked by others in layered cloaks and beast fangs—clearly a Hunter's Guild. "Name's Talvek, leader of the Red Glaive. We saw what you did. That power, that control—you ever think about joining a real Guild?"

"Pfft, Red Glaive?" chimed in a woman clad in blue-gold leathers, arms crossed, with two jagged shortblades strapped to her thighs. "Come on. Kota's clearly a precision type. He needs synergy, not brute meat. Silver Larks would actually hone him, not toss him at the next cursed beast with a prayer and a beer."

"I could hear that," Talvek growled.

"Good!" she grinned.

Blight suddenly leaned over from his seat near the bar, raising a hand. "Hmph. Our guild is full, though."

"Oh my gods, no one was talking to you," another adventurer muttered. "You just wanted in on the conversation and not feel left out."

Pebble turned instantly, puffed up like a wet cat. "Blight can add himself to ANY conversation"

"Exactly!!" Merrythorn added, patting Blight's head while sipping a drink far too large for him.

As the room descended into laughter and bickering, Lyzelle appeared beside Kota like a sudden gust of chaos. "C'mon. Let's walk. I'm allergic to these people now."

She pulled him outside, arms behind her head as they passed through the ruined outer square. Cracked earth, blackened stone, and splintered posts marked the place where Yuniper's soul had been obliterated. Yet now, figures robed in silken white were weaving restoration spells across the stonework—magic dancing from their palms like threads of time rewinding. Blood trickled slowly from their noses, but they worked silently, feverishly, as if defying what had happened.

Kota walked beside her in the fading gold of dusk. "I need to know more. About you. About Cupids. About all of this."

Lyzelle's smile faded. For once, she was still.

"Alright. Real talk. No jokes. I'll try my best to act serious." She spoke slowly, reverently—as if remembering a myth too ancient for breath. "Before time had texture… the world was one. Ivenvar, the Wombrealm. No continents. No sky. Just a divine sea. In its heart stood Laevmara, the Tree of Ascendance. It wasn't made of wood—but of concept. Growth. Becoming. Every branch held a god, not yet born. In its twisted roots? The God Larvae. Embryonic deities. Not awake. Not real. Just… waiting."

Her voice dropped to a whisper, continuing, "From Laevmara's first bloom came the Aurumkin—star-fairies shaped from music, light, and harmony. The first Cupids. Us. Our job was to keep the gods asleep. Because once they wake… the world breaks."

Kota frowned. "But one god woke up…didn't it?"

She nodded solemnly.

"Vargometh. Not born from harmony. He slithered from a knot in the bark—like a tumor. God of Blood and Darkness. The first god born from suffering. He whispered to mortals: You suffer because fairness is a lie. And mortals listened."

Then her tone sharpened.

"When a grieving queen drowned her infant in silver, her cry reached the black root. Vargometh answered. That's how the Witches of Tharnum began. Not old crones—women broken by a crooked world. They don't want thrones. They want ruin. They believe: to fix the world, all order must die. They see kingdoms as evil, order as betrayal of free will, and they believed that's not how the world should be. "They cause twisted beasts to manifest—cursed. And they want to hatch gods from stolen Larvae to rewrite the rules of creation." Lyzelle placed a hand to her chest. "Us being The Cupids... We don't fight for power. We protect the Tree. We keep the balance. Our home is Il'Vaemel, a grove of light that floats in the void. Our queen is Nireth Velasuin. She's blind as hell and sometimes it's funny when she bumps into shit. Yet, she sees more than anyone. She guards the Tree's core."

Kota slowed his steps. "So… why me? Why did you choose me as your bond?"

Lyzelle looked at him for a long time.

The wind outside had grown gentler, stars spilling through the sky in slow motion as Lyzelle leaned against a crooked post, half-silhouetted by the light of the tavern behind them. Kota stared at the cracked stone square, the silent aftermath of divine violence and soul-screaming death still etched into the air like phantom frost.

He glanced at her, hesitant. "So… really. Why me?"

Lyzelle tilted her head, arms folding behind her back again. She grinned—but softer this time, no mischief. "Honestly?"

She stepped forward and flicked his forehead.

"You were the only one around who wouldn't explode."

Kota blinked. "What?"

She laughed, then actually answered.

"Cupids can't bond with people who already have power laced into their soul. It's like trying to pour moonlight into a bottle full of blood—it cracks. Implodes. It kills them. We're too… delicate. But your soul? It was empty. Not hollow. Not broken. Just… unclaimed."

She walked past him slowly, fingers tracing invisible shapes in the air.

"You haven't surrendered yourself to those flowers. Which made you perfect."

"Perfecr huh…? Never heard that before. Anything else you wanna tell me? What's up with you guys and love?"

Then her tone shifted again—dreamlike, melodic, like she was reciting scripture written on music. "To survive, we anchored ourselves to human emotion. Specifically—love. Not just any kind. Unacted Love."

She raised a finger with each phrase:

"• Promises never fulfilled.

• Confessions never spoken.

• Lovers who wait but never move.

• Passion restrained by duty or fear."

"Our power comes from the weight of love that never gets its moment. The ache. The ache is everything."

Kota stood in stunned silence, jaw clenched.

"We feed on it. Not lust, not obsession. Unspoken devotion. That's why we guard the Tree. Because we believe that love—the kind that waits and aches but never corrupts—is the only thing keeping new gods from turning into monsters."

Kota's voice finally broke through. "And the witches… they're really trying to birth a god? Do you think they can actually pull it off?"

She nodded, serious now.

"They're trying to break the Four Locks of Divinity. Inside the Larval Chamber, every unborn god is sealed by four things:

• A Crisis of Faith.

• A Sacrifice of Legacy.

• A Song of Naming.

• A Tear from the Goddess Above."

She looked back at him. "Break those, and a god is born. That's the witches' goal. To bring forth a god of their own making—one not born from our harmony, but from pain. They think that kind of god will finally make the world fair." "But until then?" she shrugged. "They corrupt. They twist. They leech Order from the world. Turn animals, myths, even people into monsters. They want the kingdoms weak. Ready to fall."

Kota exhaled. "I… I didn't know it went that deep. I thought witches were just crazy old hags who eat kids and scream a lot."

Lyzelle's eyes widened with mock offense. "Wow. Wow. That is so speciesist. You really need to go out more."

Kota rolled his eyes. "We should probably head back—"

"Nope!" Lyzelle stopped him with a finger to his chest. "We're leaving."

"Huh? Why?"

She looked over her shoulder at the pub. "Cupids can't stay in one place too long. We pull attention. Real bad kind. Staying with you while you were unconscious was already a risk. People talk. Then hunt. And money-hungry bitches love putting price tags on beings made of love and war."

Kota frowned. "Where are we even gonna go?"

"I dunno. Wherever!" she declared, spinning dramatically and walking off. "I'll think of something! I'm pretty smart sometimes."

"What are we gonna eat?"

"We'll hunt!"

"What if we can't even hunt properly and get clobbered?!"

"We can! And if not, Then we die! Like real adventurers! But I have my ways!"

"What about sleep?"

"We sleep in your existential dread, Kota!"

He groaned. "Why do you hate me so much?"

She turned, skipping backward now, waving something black in her hand. "Nah. I don't hate you. Someone like you..is hard to hate honestly."

He squinted with a flustered tone, "Huh? W-what do you mean by that?"

Lyzelle, ignoring Kota, held up the black crystal—still faintly pulsing. "The heart of someone who offered themselves to Vargometh. Yuniper's final prayer. This little baby might just help me find my way home."

"You mean the floating tree-city full of star-fairies?"

She winked. "Mhm." Lyzelle cackled ahead of him, arms stretched wide, embracing the sun.

…

Afternoon light slanted through the clouds, casting golden patches across the wandering forest path. Mountain peaks loomed in every direction like craggy gods asleep in judgment, while the forest breathed with life—glittering insects danced around nectar pools, merchant wagons clattered past pulled by six-legged wool-beasts, and beast-kin with antlers or feathered tails bartered in wild dialects.

Kota walked beside Lyzelle, who spun a branch between her fingers like a baton, chattering non-stop.

"Okay, lesson one about Cupid culture," she said, grinning wide. "We do not fish like humans."

Kota raised an eyebrow with curiosity. "Soo..how do you do it?"

"We charm the fish out of the water with emotional harmonics." She pulled a harp from… somewhere—and strummed a bizarre, warbling chord that sounded like a love confession during a seizure.

Suddenly, the river next to them exploded with wriggling trout, salmon, and one particularly buff fish that flexed its gills and winked at Kota.

"What the—?!"

Lyzelle bowed theatrically. "You just witnessed the 'Lure of Longing.' The fish get so overwhelmed by emotional unresolvedness that they leap to their deaths."

"That's… terrifyingly effective."

"Oh it gets better. Cupid hunting traditions?"

Kota hesitated with a grin. "I'm afraid. Show me anyway."

"You should be!"

Smash cut to a clearing.

Lyzelle wore a ridiculous flower wreath helmet and smeared berry war paint on her cheeks. "We don't track animals—we guilt trip them. It's gonna be a bloodbath."

She proceeded to belt out a deeply tragic monologue to a bush that supposedly held a wild boar.

"I waited… and you never came back from the orchard… were the berries not sweet enough, Bramblehoof?!"

A boar came out of the bush sobbing.

Kota just watched, stunned, as it laid down and surrendered.

"You're actually terrifying."

"Thank you!"

"Where's the bloodbath though?"

"This is it! Right here! We're witnessing it."

Kota, with a sarcastic tone, said, "Oh yeah..soooo much blood—."

Lyzelle bonked Kota on the head slightly, saying, "Why do you want to see blood so bad?! You gotta get used to my figure of speech sometimes."

"Haha! Sorry, sorry."

By the time evening arrived, Kota was exhausted just from witnessing all this. He nearly collapsed when they finally made camp.

And the camp?

It wasn't a camp.

It was a sylvan palace made of interwoven starlight-threaded vines, velvet pillows, fruit platters levitating over runes, and lanterns filled with captured moon-moths.

Kota gawked. "Amazing…" 

Lyzelle was fluffing a pillow with perfect care. "You like it? Really?"

"You made a floating fruit bar!" Kota smiled.

"Of course I did! I have standards, Kota. Just because we're dirty wilderness adventurers doesn't mean we live like crypt goblins!"

Kota looked down at his own blood-stained bandages. "Well, I kinda did."

"Exactly! That's why I'm doing this. Gotta make sure you're around the good stuff."

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Okay. While you're busy designing stuff, There's a spring nearby. I'm gonna wash up—I reek of blood and fish guilt."

Lyzelle clapped. "Good idea. I need to bathe too. We don't bathe the same way though—mine's a whole process. I'll be back in like, twenty-seven minutes and one lyrical weep cycle."

"…What does that even mean?"

She was already walking off, waving lazily. "Don't think too hard about it!"

Kota stood there, blinking. Then he rubbed the back of his neck and muttered to himself, "How does a Cupid even take a bath?"

And just like that, his brain conjured a mental image—Lyzelle surrounded by starlight, water glowing around her, singing ancient melodies with steam spiraling around her—

"NOPE." he slapped his face, but it was too late.

From the distance, Lyzelle's voice sang out:

"ARE YOU THINKING LEWD THOUGHTS ABOUT ME?!"

Before he could run, she dropped from a tree branch, immediately locking him in a headlock, her face pressed against his like a devilish gremlin.

"I KNEW IT! You were picturing the glow-bath, weren't you?!"

"I COULDN'T HELP IT, you made it sound weird!!"

She cackled like a banshee, tightening the grip. "You're my bond now, Kota! You don't get to have shame!"

"I take it back! I want a refund on the contract!"

"Too late! Now you're in horny-penance!"

They tumbled to the ground in a mess of dirt and limbs. Eventually, they both calmed, and Lyzelle stood, brushing herself off.

"Alright. I'll head to the hilltop—ritual stuff. You go soak your gross human bones."

"Yeah yeah."

Lyzelle was already skipping away, her humming echoing through the trees.

Kota sighed, then headed toward the spring, muttering to himself.

"…This is my life now, huh?"

'And I'm starting to like it.'