“Well maybe you just need more outlets,” the lacravida said, her long, silver-white hair twirling around one finger. “More frequent… release.” He couldn’t seem to pry her eyes off of him, and her fox-like ears moved back in expression as her grin grew somehow even more sly.

  “That would still require figuring out how to not, well… explode the first time,” Soren took another bite of his breakfast, completely unbothered. He sat at a large outdoor brunch gathering in Berilinsk, the long tables crowded with steaming platters that included actual chicken eggs and baskets of browned roots not much different from Earth's potatoes.

  The lacravida across the table from him was interested in eating more than just the food, however. The fabric of Kizara's already revealing robe had grown about twice as scarce since she'd sat down an hour ago. He had lost track of how many explicit and implicit requests for various forms of sex she'd thrown at him—at least half a dozen—but somehow, she’d managed to stay respectful. It was truly an amazing skill Kizara possessed, ensuring he didn't feel objectified or uncomfortable while simultaneously convincing him that she could be half succubus.

  “What's wrong with exploding?” she cooed at him, wiggling in her seat. “You just need somewhere to direct the blast.” She closed her eyes, opened her mouth wide, and stuck her tongue out as an invitation.

  Soren stared for half a second, then picked up a bagel and shoved the entire thing into her mouth. “Are you sure you're Aurania's best friend? You are much more open than she is.”

  Kizara sputtered chunks of bread, finally regaining her composure after gulping down some fruit juice. “Oh believe me, she's thinking everything I'm saying.”

  She huffed like a pouting child. “Fine. If I can't have fun with you, let's at least talk about what the hell you think you're wearing.”

  Soren wore the lacravida style garbs he had picked up on his travels with Amalia's help. “What?” he briefly glanced down at himself. “A couple of the outfits you made me got damaged, so I needed replacements. That, and I wanted to take Aurania on a date. I wanted something special.”

  “Oh!” Kizara perked up. “How did that go?”

  “Good,” Soren smiled, thinking back. “It was interesting, knowing we couldn’t really do anything physical. We were forced to just talk, get to know each other over wine and candle-lit dinner.” The memory filled Soren with a feeling deep in his chest warmer than the overheating planet they were currently on.

  “Wait, so you’re insanely hot and romantic?” Kizara sounded distraught. “No fair. I wouldn’t have been able to keep my hands off.”

  Soren laughed. “She almost gave in after I kissed her but I told her the same thing I’ll tell you.” He beckoned her closer with one finger.

  “Yes?” Kizara was almost pleading. She stood and leaned over the table to get closer to him.

  He pushed her back with one finger against her forehead. “Down girl.”

  She looked like she might cry. “You’re mean and torturous and I want to figure out how to clone you.”

  Soren laughed again. “Do you still have my measurements? Would you be willing to make me some more outfits? Something more this style? They’re very comfortable.”

  Kizara scoffed. “First you tease me and then ask me for a favor?”

  He shrugged. “I could just keep wearing these robes.”

  “Like hell!” She slammed her palms flat on the table, and the excess fabric of her robes fell loose from the various parts of her body she’d tucked it into. She stormed off toward her workshop.

  “Good bye Kizara!” Soren called warmly, waving after her.

  Berilinsk was proving much more accepting of him this time around, due in no small part to Aurania letting him carry around her greataxe. Not everyone welcomed him with open arms, but he’d enjoyed an eventful 24 hours nonetheless. He decided to take advantage of his reduced need for sleep, wandering throughout town and immersing himself in Aurania’s people.

  The guest house was technically available for him, but he hadn’t felt like retreating there. After months of living in close quarters, surrounded by constant voices and company, solitude didn’t sit right anymore.

  The town was different at night—lamplight pooling in the streets, the air heavy with heat and the faint hum of insects. Sometimes he found himself drawn into conversations: a field hand sharing her weariness, a pair of children up much later than they should have been daring each other to ask him questions. An older d’moria woman offered him a cup of wine and asked him to sit and chat on her front patio for a few minutes.

  Later on, he set the axe on the ground at the edge of the square, quietly leaning against it. He watched people drift past, his height and frame making him a landmark whether he wanted it or not. Berilinsk was more alive during the day, sure, but there were more than enough night owls to make the night less lonely.

  A couple hours past midnight, Soren wandered over and found the cats he remembered Elias and Riza liked to feed. A few of them still hung around, despite their feeders being absent for quite some time. He filled the bowls with as much savory food as he could find, letting them chow to their hearts’ content.

  He hadn’t seen Tamiyo since yesterday. She’d stayed behind in Silvara’s Hall after he left, probably still deep in conversation with the Enderchild sisters. She’d been wanting to learn more about lacravida culture and biology, seeking to be a better personal care CIPHER for their cozy crew.

  Soren reached out and picked up a deviled egg, plopping it happily into his mouth. As he chewed, he realized Miraen was approaching him. The faint glimmer of jewelry at her wrist caught the sunlight as she came closer. Almost on instinct, he scrambled to stand from the bench—a haphazard show of respect as she drew near.

  “Thank you,” she said before he could greet her. “But don’t feel like you need to do that.”

  He hesitated, then sat back down. She lowered herself across from him, grabbing herself some food to work through. For a few beats, the only sound between them was the soft ambiance of communal brunch. The air between them felt lighter than last time they met. It was strange—she had been so kind to him, even before the Departure. She had been one of the first to extend an olive branch of grace, even though he’d killed her fiancé.

  “You don’t have to be nervous,” Miraen said, meeting his eyes at last. “It’ll get smaller if we talk. I’m never going to forget what happened, but… we can begin to move past it.”

  Soren swallowed, a fragile smile glimpsing across his face. “Okay. Thank you. What would you like me to talk about?”

  Her gaze softened. “Tell me about your time with Elias.”

  Soren leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. He picked up a nearby pitcher of coffee, pouring them each a cup.

  “It didn’t take long with Elias,” Soren started, smiling at the memories. “We were just… friends almost immediately. He was this grounding presence for me, you know? I was lost, pulled eight thousand years out of my life, and then suddenly full of all this energy I couldn’t control. He was the only other human, and that… really, really helped.” He felt himself choke up just thinking about it.

  “But more than that—he made things feel real again. Anchored me when I could’ve just drifted off or spun into insanity.”

  Miraen nodded slowly, her expression caught between sympathy and restraint. “That must have been hard to lose.”

  Soren’s jaw tightened, and he stared down at the cup of coffee cradled in his hands. “In my grief—my anger… Miraen, I almost tore a planet in two. He died protecting Tamiyo—he was murdered by someone from the Conservatory. Even with all this power, I couldn’t stop it.”

  She watched him carefully, taking a long sip of her coffee. “Why didn’t you? Tear the planet in two, I mean.”

  Soren took a deep breath. “Aurania. She charged into the eye of the storm and pulled me back from the brink.”

  A faint smile touched Miraen’s lips. “Aura really is an amazing woman.”

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Soren huffed out a quiet laugh. “Yeah… she still doesn’t let me call her that, though.”

  That actually earned a soft chuckle from Miraen. “Interesting she lets you carry her axe around, though.”

  Soren glanced back over his shoulder. The greataxe sat a couple feet away, balanced on the flat of its massive blade with the haft jutting skyward like some great metal banner. He gave a half-smile. “She said she trusts me. I definitely trust her.”

  When he looked back from the axe, returning his gaze to Miraen, his eyes didn’t fully make it there. They froze, locked on two figures sitting a couple spots down from Miraen. They had been sitting silently listening to them talk.

  One face he knew—Brolgar had become very familiar these past few months. The other, he recognized but had never spoken to—a lacravida with hard eyes and a presence that rooted him to the spot. The last time he had laid eyes on her was The Departure, as she helped carry the platform of caskets into the town square. He’d watched silently during the ceremony, when she and Brolgar carried torches forward and burned the bodies of Thorsul and Thamdir.

  Their children.

  Soren didn’t know what to say. Even if he had, he felt the breath caught in his chest, no words able to escape.

  Brolgar cleared his throat, steady as stone. “Walk with us, lad.”

  Soren glanced once at Miraen, who simply gave him a small nod of encouragement. He rose to his feet, picked up the greataxe, and slipped it into the same grip Aurania favored—hand high near the blade, haft pointed up behind him.

  He fell into step beside Brolgar and the lacravida as they drifted away from the tables into the streets of Berilinsk, Miraen joining at his flank. After a time, Brolgar gestured between them. “Soren, this is Orlina.” His gruff voice was softer than usual.

  Soren bowed his head, his mouth dry. “It’s… nice to meet you.” The words sounded clumsy, too formal, maybe, but they were all he could find.

  Orlina was quiet for a few moments before answering. She was beautiful—he’d never seen a lacravida that wasn’t. But in a way he couldn’t put his finger on, she reminded him of Brolgar.

  When she finally spoke, her voice was steady, but carried an edge sharp enough to cut. “I wasn’t sure if I ever wanted to talk with you, but Brolgar insisted. Said you’ve proved yourself during your travels, and I trust his word. That doesn’t mean I can just move past, but… I will try my best to not be cruel towards you.”

  Soren bowed his head again, the weight of her words pressing heavier than the axe in his hand. “That is more than I deserve. Thank you.”

  They walked in silence for several strides, the sound of the bustling town filling in the gaps. A vendor shouted about fresh honey cakes, children ran about playing a game, and the tang of roasted meat drifted from a nearby stall. All of it felt muted to Soren, background noise against the awareness of Orlina’s presence at his side.

  Finally, she spoke again, her tone clipped but not unkind. “They were good boys. Stubborn and reckless, but good. They would’ve liked you, in another life, I think.”

  Soren’s throat tightened. “I wish I could have known them that way.”

  Orlina’s eyes flicked to him, then away. “Can you… tell me what happened? Not how they died. But why? What was the miscommunication?”

  Soren stopped walking, and they stopped with him. It felt like walking on eggshells talking to her at first, but this…

  He met her eyes with a hard gaze. “Are you sure you want to know?”

  She looked back, just as hard. “Tell me.”

  Her voice was firm. It was neither demand nor request. Just a mother, seeking truth.

  Soren took a deep breath, then moved the axe around and dropped it in front of him, grasping the haft with both hands the way he’d seen Aurania do a dozen times. “I had just woken up, been back in the world maybe a couple hours. I had the worst headache I’ve ever experienced, everything was disorienting, it was like I couldn’t get my fight or flight mode to turn off. And, I was in this strange, new body, over a foot taller than I remembered.” He paused, looking at his hands before continuing.

  “When I heard talking, I couldn’t understand any of the words, not like I do now. I carefully approached the camp, observed…” Soren looked at Brolgar for a moment. “I had just decided to try approaching and making contact.”

  The air between them was thick, but he needed to finish what she wanted to hear.

  “Thamdir,” his eyes locked with Orlina’s. “I heard a noise to my right. Looked. He was there, pointing his weapon at me. I didn’t know at the time… how durable I am. That the weapon wouldn’t have killed me. I was scared.”

  She didn’t look away from him.

  “He yelled. For me to put my hands up, I assume—I don’t know, didn’t know the words. But his tone was clear. So I complied. Put my hands up. But…”

  Soren shook his head, still trying to make sense of it all. “I don’t presume to know what went through your boy’s head, Orlina. Whether I moved too fast, he perceived it as a threat, or what… I don’t know. But I put my hands up. And he shot at me an instant later. The rest was reflex.”

  The words hung between them with the tension of a guillotine waiting to drop. Soren’s chest rose and fell in slow, uneven breaths, his grip on the axe-haft aching with strain. The bustle of Berilinsk carried on around them—laughter, haggling, footsteps on stone—but it all seemed impossibly far away.

  Orlina’s eyes glistened, her jaw working as though she were holding something back. For a long moment, she stood rigid, her hands flexing at her sides. With a sharp inhale, her lips quivered, and she stepped forward.

  Before Soren could react, her arms wrapped around him. The embrace was fierce, almost desperate, and he stood frozen for a beat before his body finally remembered what to do. His own hand came up, resting gently against her back.

  She trembled once against him, just enough for him to notice, then pulled away.

  Brolgar’s voice came rough, unsteady—like stone fracturing under strain. “Thank you, lad.”

  Soren swallowed, unsure how to react. Then he flinched as he felt Miraen’s hand on his back. It was steadying, and when he looked at her, she had a sad smile on her face.

  They continued down the street, weaving through Berilinsk’s winding paths. Miraen kept close but silent, letting the moment belong to the parents. Eventually, Orlina’s voice cut through again, more casual than before. “The timing of your visit is most opportune. My Aunt Hina is visiting from Lacravi, she’s not the type to sit idle while the world crumbles. She has offered to help make sure Aura's team is prepared for the next step of your mission. I think you’ll find it… enlightening to meet her.”

  Perhaps family closure was something the lacravida needed, or maybe this Aunt Hina had some words of wisdom. Whatever it was, Soren graciously accepted. They hadn’t gone much further before a small, high-pitched voice piped up from the crowd.

  “Excuse me!”

  Soren glanced down to see a teenage lacravida stepping nervously into their path. Her dark braids swayed as she bowed her head, cheeks flushed with nerves. It took him a heartbeat to place her, but then it clicked—the girl from the quake. She had stepped out of a house and froze—he grabbed her right before the building collapsed on top of her.

  “Liora, right?” he asked softly.

  Her amber eyes flicked up to meet his. “You know my name?”

  Soren smiled warmly. “Violet told me.”

  It was interesting how differently lacravida dressed as children versus when they were adults. All of the grown lacravida preferred flowy, revealing garments that displayed the curves of their bodies. Any of the lacravida he'd seen under the age of 20, however, all dressed in regular shirt-like tunics and trousers. If Liora didn't have hooves and long animal-like ears, one would think she was human.

  “I wanted to say thank you,” Liora said. Her voice was shaky, but steadied the more she talked. “I appreciate you saving me.”

  Soren’s throat tightened. “Of course, Liora. Anytime.”

  She beamed up at him, then ducked her head again and scurried away.

  They continued walking, but the town was no longer just the hum of merchants and neighbors. The further they went, the thicker the bodies became, a steady swell of movement as though the whole of Berilinsk was being pulled in the same direction. Soren felt nervous for a moment, as if he should be on the watch for trouble, but then remembered where he was.

  His grip on the axe shifted, and he told himself that he was safe.

  A faint ping in his mind told him Aurania was nearby. The thread of her presence brushed against him like static on skin—familiar, grounding, impossible to mistake. She was close, somewhere up ahead.

  “What’s going on?” he murmured, glancing at the growing crowd.

  Brolgar didn’t answer, his gaze fixed forward. Orlina’s face gave nothing away. Miraen stayed beside Soren but said nothing.

  The press of people thickened, then parted as they reached the outskirts of town. Instead of the usual market sprawl, the space opened into a broad courtyard, its stone tiles swept clean, ringed by tiered wooden buildings with dark, curved roofs that gave the place a temple-like gravity. Hundreds of onlookers packed the edges, their voices hushed to a low, expectant murmur.

  It was a battle circle, but not like the one he had previously fought Veolo in. This was more formal—ceremonial even—a ring painted on the stone floor surrounded by pagoda-style buildings.

  At its center stood a lone lacravida warrior. Her armor was resplendent—deep blue steel chased with gold filigree, every plate fitted as though it had been forged for her alone. Sunlight glinted off the intricate designs carved into her pauldrons and greaves, each line a mark of both artistry and authority. Her long platinum-blonde hair spilled freely past the raised collar of her cuirass, gleaming like a banner in its own right.

  She stood holding a greatsword in one hand, the tip resting gently on the ground. The blade itself was massive, its edge broad and flawless, the fuller inlaid with the same blue-gold motif that ran across her armor. It did not look like a weapon meant only for war—it radiated ceremony, tradition, and weight of legacy—not unlike the axe Soren carried.

  The crowd hushed and pushed back away from her as Soren and company entered the space. The warrior’s sharp, fox-like ears twitched, and her gaze locked with his across the circle—steady, unflinching, a challenge carried in silence.

  Soren quickly looked to his d’moria companion. “Brolgar, what the fuck am I looking at?”

  Orlina answered for him. “You know that we resolve our frustrations by venting in the battle circle. As much as I’d love to pound you into the dirt and get some anger out, the fight would do little to prepare you for the mission to come, and I know that I would likely lose.”

  She strode toward the warrior at the center of the circle, pecking a gentle kiss on her cheek, then looked back. “Soren, I would like to formally introduce you to my Aunt Hina. Or as she is better known on Lacravi…”

  An amused smirk traced across her face at the surprise they had unfolded on him.

  “Warmaiden Hinakané, The Blade of the Matrons.”