NOT IN THE MOOD FOR LOVE

The air inside Arslan's room in the Mythic Base was heavy and still.

Two days had passed since the binding.

His body, though now mostly recovered, still pulsed faintly with dark heat beneath the skin—a side effect of hosting something ancient and volatile.

Arslan lay on his bed, arm over his eyes, a faint line of sweat on his brow. The stone walls around him glowed faintly from the wall-mounted bluish lamps, casting soft shadows over the bookshelf, locker, and corner wardrobe.

> "You've been unconscious, snoring like a dying boar," came a low voice.

> "And now you're just lying here like a wounded prince."

Kar'Thæl, materialized as a shadowy silhouette leaning back in Arslan's chair, smirked and spun a pen between his fingers with lazy precision.

Arslan didn't move.

> "You could be more grateful," Arslan muttered, not bothering to lift his arm. "I saved your rotting soul."

Kar'Thæl gave a theatrical sigh.

> "And yet you act like you married me instead."

Then—a knock.

Three gentle, rhythmic taps on the door.

Arslan slowly pulled his arm from his face.

> "Now what?"

Kar'Thæl's form instantly faded, merging back into Arslan like mist drawn into a vacuum.

> "Hide and hush," Arslan whispered.

> "You're not ready for visitors."

He rose, steadying himself for a second before crossing to the door. When he opened it, he blinked.

Standing there was Nirela Quen.

She was dressed in a soft moon-silver tunic, her eyes glowing gently with that quiet lunar charm she always carried. Her hair shimmered like woven starlight, and her tone was as sweet as chilled spring water.

> "Arslan..." she said gently, her lips curved just slightly into a playful smirk, "You've slept through three breakfasts and four shifts. The others were wondering if you'd died."

Arslan stared at her, unfazed.

> "I didn't."

She smiled more, leaning against the doorframe just slightly.

> "We're having breakfast in the courtyard today. It's a soft morning, moon's still fading behind the trees. Thought you might want to… eat under it."

Her voice lingered a moment too long on the word eat, almost playfully suggestive.

Arslan blinked once. Expression blank.

> "I'll come."

> "After my bath."

And without another word, he closed the door in her face.

---

A beat of silence.

Then—

> "Oooohhhhhh she's cute," came Kar'Thæl's voice from inside Arslan's head, tone absolutely delighted.

He rematerialized behind Arslan, grinning.

> "That one's got a smile that could melt a sword, and those eyes? She wasn't inviting you to breakfast, she was inviting you to practice making your son."

Arslan didn't turn. He simply walked toward his wardrobe.

> "Shut up."

Kar'Thæl placed a hand over his heart, feigning deep emotional pain.

> "I'm hurt. You wound me. I simply want what's best for my vessel's lineage. That girl is moon-blooded, pretty, and soft-spoken. Definitely mother material."

Arslan grabbed a towel and his clean clothes.

> "She's a teammate. Nothing more."

Kar'Thæl raised both brows mockingly.

> "Teammates don't look at you like you're breakfast."

Arslan turned sharply.

> "I said shut up."

> "I don't think of her like that. I don't think of anyone like that."

Kar'Thæl blinked, then gave a slow smirk.

> "So cold. So focused. You sound like an old monk."

> "No wonder your heart's so dark—it's never seen any light."

Arslan turned back toward the washroom.

> "Keep talking and I'll let a healer exorcise you."

Kar'Thæl laughed.

> "Please. That would be adorable."

> "Let's see them try to purge a being older than their planet with a herb smoothie."

Arslan didn't respond. He opened the washroom door.

> "Focus on our purpose," he said flatly. "Not on women."

> "We have stones to protect, a Demon World watching, and people who will kill us if they find out what we've done."

He looked over his shoulder one last time.

> "So if I hear the word mother again, I swear I'll stab myself just to make your stay worse."

Kar'Thæl raised his hands in mock surrender.

> "Fine. No more matchmaking."

> "But when she confesses under the stars, don't say I didn't tell you."

Arslan stepped into the washroom and slammed the door shut.

From inside, Kar'Thæl's last echo floated in with wicked amusement:

> "...You'll name him after me, won't you? KaShan. Perfect."