The city stretched out in every direction, red-tiled roofs catching the late afternoon sun, narrow streets cutting through them like dark ribbons. Beyond, domes and spires rose from the skyline, some gilded, others weathered to a dull bronze. In the distance, the faint shimmer of the Tiber wound its way through the city, catching flashes of gold where the light struck it just right.

  The air smelled faintly of stone baked in heat, mixed with olive trees from somewhere beyond the city’s edge. Far below, the great oval lay open to the sky, its tiers of crumbling stone still sharp-edged despite centuries of wear.

  Soren sat at the very top of the Colosseum, the warm wind pressing at his back.

  “What is this place?” her voice had a soft awe of reverence. Aurania stood beside him, arms folded, gaze sweeping over the arena floor as if it were still stained from yesterday’s battles. The breeze teased loose strands of her hair, carrying them past her face.

  “Rome.”

  Had it been the first time they’d shared a memory together, it would have felt insane. Even the second or third would have been an oddity. But it felt almost normal, talking to her like this.

  “This was on Earth?”

  “Yes,” Soren nodded. “Although, it’s a little strange.” He looked down off the wall, then around. They were atop the tallest point of the Colosseum that still stood when he had visited. “I never actually climbed up here, I wonder why we're able to view it like this.”

  Aurania sat down next to him, her hooves dangling off the edge. “This feels different than the other memories we’ve shared.”

  “Yeah… I wonder if it’s more like a lucid dream.”

  “Like where you can kind of control what you’re dreaming?”

  “Yeah.”

  A calm gust of wind blew past them, her long braid flowing out like a royal standard.

  “This is fitting for you,” Soren said, nodding toward the shadowed arches and the open center below. “A place built for warriors.”

  Her eyes didn’t leave the arena. “It wasn’t always warriors they sent down there.” She was pulling that bit of info from his own memories.

  “I know,” he said quietly. “Some were prisoners. Some had no choice.”

  Aurania tilted her head, studying the massive structure like she was reading the history in the stone. “Even so, they fought knowing people came to watch them bleed.”

  Soren followed her gaze. The sunlight spilled over the stands, bright and warm above, but the lowest parts of the arena were sunk in shadow. He could imagine the roar of the crowd, the metallic tang of weapons, the smell of dust kicked up underfoot.

  Aurania giggled and Soren turned to see her staring at him.

  “What?”

  She reached a hand out and ran fingers through his hair. “Is this how you looked before the Aether Dust?”

  His hand flew to his head, then he looked down, feeling himself all over.

  She was right.

  He wasn’t massive.

  He suddenly felt very small, sitting next to the woman who was over seven and a half feet tall.

  “Yes,” Soren finally answered in a shaky voice. He felt his face flush.

  Aurania smiled. “It’s cute. Like this, you wouldn’t be able to overpower me.”

  Soren studied her for a couple seconds, then cocked an eyebrow. “You almost sound disappointed.”

  Her gaze lingered on him a moment too long, as if weighing the truth of it. She looked away without speaking, but he didn’t sense a wall coming up.

  “You’ve never been with someone stronger than you before,” Soren said.

  Her eyes moved back to him so fast her braid whipped over her shoulder.

  But she didn’t look angry.

  She looked shocked—like she was caught completely off-guard.

  Her eyes slowly drifted back to the arena. “No…” her voice sounded so small. “My strength, my… control. It’s how I keep people safe. Giving that up—” She shook her head. “—doesn’t feel easy.”

  The words stirred something low in his chest. He nodded, trying to be more the friend she needed now more than anything else. “Something like that would require quite a bit of trust. Enough to feel safe. To be vulnerable.”

  He looked off in the distance, casually kicking his legs and tilting his head back and forth. He playfully added, “If you could even find someone that strong.”

  She didn’t answer right away—but finally, she nodded.

  He studied her profile, the faint furrow between her brows. “Do you feel safe with me?”

  The pause this time was longer. It wasn’t doubt—he could see that. It was something heavier. She knew that saying yes wasn’t just about trust in battle. It meant not always taking lead if they got closer.

  Aurania let out a large exhale. “Yes.”

  He let the word settle. Then he turned his tone a little more clinical. “Do lacravida have a concept of safe words?”

  “Yes,” she said without looking at him. “I’ve never needed one, though.”

  The wind moved around them again, tugging gently at her braid. Silence pooled between them—not awkward, but charged. Soren felt the question sitting on the edge of his tongue, whether she’d want one now. But something told him asking outright might make her pull back, and he wasn’t ready for the distance that might create.

  He stood up.

  “Everything alright?” Aurania looked up at him, squinting against the sun.

  Soren held a hand out. “I don’t know how long this dream might last. There’s something I want to show you.”

  She eyed his hand for a moment, then slipped hers into it.

  He leaned over.

  And fell off the Colosseum, pulling Aurania down with him.

  But it was his memory—his dream. So he pulled them upward, and they floated toward the sky—the Colosseum falling away beneath them. As weightlessness overtook them, the city spread out beneath their feet.

  They rose higher, the warm wind sharpening into something cooler, thinner. Rome’s maze of rooftops and stone streets shrank to a tapestry of red, white, and green. The Colosseum became a coin-sized ring, the Tiber a winding thread of amber-gold in the late sun.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Aurania gasped, looking down. Her braid swayed in the wind. “We’re flying.”

  “Lucid dream,” Soren grinned. “Plus, Amalia was bugging me to start trying this out, so… felt like a good chance to practice.”

  The horizon bent under them as they climbed, passing twenty thousand feet in seconds. From here, Italy was a living painting—patchwork fields of emerald and ochre, stitched together with rivers and silver highways. Small towns sat like clusters of white stone, church spires catching the light.

  To the north, the terrain began to ripple with hills that grew steeper, the shadows between them deepening into blues and purples. Beyond, the jagged teeth of the Alps bit into the sky, their snowcaps glowing in the sun.

  “What year was this?” Aurania asked. Her tone was level, calm—even though she should’ve needed to yell over the wind if this were happening in reality.

  “2077. At least, that’s when I visited.” He looked toward their destination.

  They drifted northwest, the air cooling against Soren’s face. Lakes began to appear—mirrorlike pools cupped in the folds of mountains.

  “That one,” he pointed.

  One of the lakes stretched out in an elongated Y-shape, its surface glassy and green-blue, framed by steep, forested slopes. The late light spilled across it in molten streaks. Villas and gardens clung to the edges of the water, their pale walls and terracotta roofs standing out against the deep green hills. The dream pulled them downward, toward a slim peninsula where a villa sat perched at the very tip, wrapped in gardens and terraced stone.

  The descent was smooth, almost lazy, the lake’s surface tilting upward to meet them. They skimmed over tall evergreens and flower-draped walls, sunlight flickering through the leaves in shifting gold.

  They touched down on a wide stone terrace, its balustrade carved in looping patterns worn smooth by centuries of hands. Ivy climbed the pale columns, curling toward the high arched windows behind them. From here, the lake spread out in both directions, its surface painted with ribbons of late light.

  A breeze lifted from the water, cooler than the air in Rome, and brushed past Soren’s face. It carried the mingled scents of cypress, blooming wisteria, and the faint mineral tang of the lake itself. Far below, the steady dip of oars broke the silence, accompanied by faint voices that drifted across the water before fading into the hush of the mountains.

  Aurania stepped forward, her hooves clicking authentically against the stone despite the fantasy of it all. She leaned down, palms against the balustrade, eyes roaming the view. The sun caught the line of her jaw, the dramatic curves of her body, and warmed the bronze of her skin.

  She truly looked like a goddess made real.

  “This is the Villa del Balbianello,” Soren quietly moved up next to her. “And this is Lake Como. The country we just flew over is Italy, or… it used to be.”

  “The view is beautiful,” she murmured.

  “Yes.” He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. “It is.”

  She looked away, grinning and blushing.

  Soren hesitated, then spoke. “It’s a place that’s always made me feel… sicura—the Italian word for safe.”

  Her fingers tapped against the stone, then stilled. When she looked at him again, there was a flicker of something unguarded in her eyes.

  “Yes,” she said softly. “Sicura.”

  The word lingered between them, heavier than the air, as if the lake itself had stilled to hear it.

  When Soren’s eyes opened, the light in the room was dim and real. The hum of the ship was faint in the background. Aurania was still there—only now they were even more tangled into each other than when she had pulled him to her breast. Her large chest was pressed flush to his, and one of her legs was hooked over his thigh.

  His mouth was level with the curve of her collarbone, close enough that he could feel the steady warmth of her skin. For a moment, he just lay there, unwilling to disturb her or the quiet between them.

  Her breathing shifted, subtle but noticeable, the faintest hitch before falling back into rhythm. He lifted a hand and brushed the edge of her ear, letting his fingers trail to where it met her scalp. He scratched lightly there, the way he’d seen her relax into it before.

  A soft, unconscious whimper slipped out of her.

  Then her thighs tightened on his leg.

  The sensation hit him before the thought did—a low, simmering heat curling through his chest, sinking lower. He knew it now, could trace its edge like a familiar scent. Aurania had explained it once before, how lacravida pheromones were scentless but potent, how they slipped under the skin without warning. For him, it came as a sweet, intoxicating hunger, a primal pull.

  If he let it linger too long, resisting would become harder—maybe impossible.

  But for the moment…

  Her thighs clenched around him again, the movement slow and sure, and then she shifted in a way that left no room for doubt. She was grinding into him, even in sleep.

  He leaned in, brushing his lips along the curve of her neck, then lower to her collarbone.

  She kept moving, unhurried, as if savoring the friction.

  His hand found her thigh, fingers tracing the line of muscle before beginning a slow inward slide—

  He stopped—hesitating for a moment.

  She’s still asleep.

  But as soon as the thought occurred to him, a single whisper escaped her lip.

  “No, I’m not.”

  She kept her eyes closed.

  His hand slowly slid higher, until it cupped the heat between her legs. Her breath caught in a sharp gasp, and her arms came up around him, pulling him tight. He pressed more firmly, grinding gently as his fingers traced unhurried patterns—up, then down—and slow, deliberate circles that made her hips twitch in response.

  A low groan escaped her throat.

  The muscles in her thigh trembled under his hand, the tension there winding tighter each time his fingers found just the right angle. Her breathing turned ragged, each exhale brushing hot across his ear. She began to rock into his touch, slow at first, then with a hungry, almost desperate rhythm, as though she couldn’t stop herself.

  Soren kept his pace steady, letting her move against him, his other arm tightening around her back to hold her close. The coil inside her drew tighter, sharper, until it was almost a shiver running through her whole frame.

  “Go on,” he whispered, and kissed her collarbone—

  She broke.

  Her body locked in a sharp, breathless jolt before the tension spilled out of her in waves. She shuddered hard against him, a sharp cry escaped, and her legs clamped tight around his hand as if to keep him there.

  Her breathing slowed in uneven pulls, the tremors in her body easing as the last of the tension drained out of her. For a moment she stayed pressed against him, her weight warm and heavy.

  Then she moved.

  It wasn’t the slow, languid motion of someone settling back into rest—it was fast and intense. She lifted her head, eyes flashing open, and there was nothing sleepy about her gaze. Before he could react, her hand slid down his chest, the other curling around his hip.

  Her leg tightened over his, trapping him in place.

  Soren caught her wrist. “Aurania—”

  She ignored it, twisting her body until she had him flat on his back, her hair falling around his face like a curtain. Her knee pressed into the mattress beside his ribs as she pinned his shoulders.

  She didn’t speak—she leaned in, biting his shoulder—hungry, primal.

  Her weight shifted just enough to give him space to slip his arm under hers. With a sudden roll of his hips, he reversed their positions, pinning her arms down with one hand on each wrist.

  Aurania laughed, low and dangerous. Her face was a mix of excitement and adrenaline, like she was circling an opponent in a fight that had managed to land their first blow. Soren’s own breathing was faster now, the heat between them climbing again.

  “Down girl.”

  She snarled at the challenge, then strained against his grip, showing just how strong she truly was. For a moment, she almost broke free. He had to shift his weight again, locking her wrists above her head while their legs tangled in the sheets.

  Her jaw tensed and her eyes were wild.

  She was like an animal in heat.

  Soren jumped out of bed, smiling despite himself.

  Aurania was on all fours in a blink, her face pressed to his torso. She nipped through the fabric, her hands already working lower, trying to take control before he could stop her.

  “Hey—” he started, catching her wrists, but she only growled and leaned in again.

  He wanted to let her.

  Every nerve in his body screamed at him to give in, to meet that hunger with his own. His grip on her wrists tightened, not to hurt her, but to hold himself back. She was strong, and the fight between them—half playful, half serious—only fanned the heat.

  Soren’s jaw clenched.

  His heartbeat was in his ears.

  He whispered, “Sicura.”

  Their mental link flashed, and he felt them both recoil with no physical motion. It was like he'd slapped them both in the face.

  Aurania froze.

  Their eyes met, and something unspoken passed in the space of a breath. She eased back, not in defeat, but in deliberate control, her gaze still fixed on his.

  She looked wounded, but she understood.

  “You’re glowing,” Aurania said quietly. Her face was flushed with heat.

  Soren took a deep breath, eyes never leaving her, and exhaled. The Aether Dust calmed under his skin. He ran a hand up one side of her neck and face, fingers interlacing her long hair. He pulled her in and leaned down to gently kiss her forehead.

  “Good girl.”