The road back to Marrowpine stretches long and quiet beneath the afternoon sun.
Not empty—never that. Just… charged.
The bond between us hums low and steady, like a breeze moving through leaves. Neither of us says it outright, but it is there, threading through every step, every glance.
“She’s gotta be strong,” Kit says, flicking a small stone off the road with a sharp snap of her boot. “No exceptions. I’m not babysitting some wide-eyed rookie in the middle of a Bushmen ambush.”
“If she can’t hold a line,” I say, “she’s dead weight.”
Kit nods once. “Exactly.”
A few steps pass before I add, “Still Tier 1, though. Like us. Clean slate. Someone we can shape. Someone we can trust.”
She huffs softly. “Trust’s the expensive part.”
We both know it. The good ones don’t stay available long—bought up, trained, claimed. What is left in places like the Slave Market… those are the exceptions.
Or the dangerous ones.
Silence settles again, but not the comfortable kind. This one carries weight. The kind that comes with change.
Kit’s voice breaks it, quieter now. “I want her to be strong. But not just muscle.” Her gaze flicks toward me. “I want her to understand us. The way we move. The way we fight.”
A beat.
“The way we belong to each other.”
She doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t have to.
I step in closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her in. She comes easily, her arms sliding around my waist like she has already decided this part.
“I’ll explain it to her the same way I did to you,” I say. “It’s not about collecting people. It’s about building something that holds.”
Kit exhales softly against my chest.
“A harem, huh?” she murmurs. “Could’ve called it something cooler. Like ‘elite combat sisterhood.’ Or ‘triad of unstoppable badasses.’ Something less… pervy.”
I hold up my hands in mock defense, “I didn’t name the subclass.”
Still, she doesn’t let go.
“You always talk about belonging like it’s sacred,” she goes on, quieter now. “And… maybe it is. For us. Maybe it could be for her too. If we find the right one.”
She pulls back just enough to poke a clawed finger into my chest.
“But if she’s prettier than me and can block a Bushman tendril with her face, I’m stepping on your neck at least once.”
I huff a laugh. “Fair.”
She smirks. “Also—if she’s smart, she’ll run the moment she sees us.”
“Too late for that.”
That earns a real laugh—short, breathy, a little edged with nerves.
By the time Marrowpine comes into view, the decision isn’t a question anymore.
It is just a matter of doing it.
We move through town quickly.
Sell what we don’t need. Turn weight into coin. Keep what matters.
A few looks follow us—Kit’s new armor catches the eye in ways steel never does—but no one stops us. Not worth the trouble.
The Feisty Dwarf is loud as ever when we step inside—roasted meat, cheap spice wine, pipe smoke, and laughter thick in the air.
The Innkeeper glances up as we cross the threshold.
“Back from the forest, eh? I was sure you two would’ve gotten yourselves eaten by Bushmen… or worse—each other.”
Kit gives him a flat look and keeps walking, her tail brushing lightly against my leg as she passes.
We don’t stay for drinks or food in the common hall.
Our room is the same as before.
Simple. Familiar.
Home, in the way something becomes home when you survive there.
Kit has insisted on it.
We talk at first—plans, classes, what we are looking for.
Then the words fade, but the silence that follows isn’t empty.
It isn’t just heat. Not just want.
It is something steadier.
Two people who have bled together. Learned each other’s rhythm in the middle of chaos. Chosen this bond not because it is easy—but because it works.
Because it matters.
Kit’s hands are warm. Her tattoos pulse faintly in the low candlelight, matching the rhythm of my heartbeat. There is laughter. Quiet teasing. That slow-building tension that doesn’t need to rush.
And eventually… stillness.
She falls asleep half across me, her tail curled over my hip, one leg hooked loosely over mine like she has no intention of being anywhere else.
Like she knows this is the end of something… and the start of something else.
Morning comes with the sound of the town waking.
The distant toll of the mill bell. The smell of fresh pastries drifting in through the window. Voices rising below as the Feisty Dwarf shakes itself back to life.
The room still holds the warmth of the night before.
Kit stirs beside me, ears twitching once before she rolls over to face me. Her eyes are still heavy with sleep, but there is something sharp behind them—awake already, even if the rest of her isn’t.
“Alright,” she says, voice rough with sleep.
A small grin follows.
“Let’s go rescue a girl.”
A beat.
“And our shield.”