They slept together that night.
Well—together in the same room.
Garlan didn’t sleep a wink.
Marenna had dozed off against him—peacefully, naturally.
And her chest, pressed a little too close, had caused an intense southbound blood redirection.
Which… lasted all night.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Hardly breathed.
He tried to think of other things:
Sheep. Spell formulas.
Tharion dancing naked in the rain.
Nothing worked.
He stayed tense.
Literally.
And finally collapsed from sheer exhaustion.
Sleep took him like a sack of potatoes—
just as his treacherous right hand…
slipped.
And landed squarely on Marenna’s generous, bouncing pectorals.
—
When she woke, Marenna immediately felt a hand resting on her.
And it wasn’t hers.
She opened one eye, groggy, and followed the length of the arm—
Garlan.
His cheek pressed against her temple.
His hand… very much in place.
She turned scarlet.
Internally: chaos.
Externally: “He’s cute but he’s already groping me, really?”
She slipped out of the house as discreetly as possible, trying hard to forget the fresh memory of that palm-shaped warmth on her chest.
Outside, Tharion was already up, prepping for departure.
He was tying sacks, adjusting straps, chewing on a blade of grass with the jaded expression of someone who’d seen it all, understood everything… and still judged you anyway.
— “Morning,” Marenna said.
— “Morning, Mrs. Garlan,” he replied, without turning.
She stumbled, nearly tripped over a rock.
— “What?! Why would you—?! That’s not—! Are you insane?!”
Tharion slowly turned his head, one corner of his mouth curled in a grin.
— “When I opened one eye this morning and saw you two cuddled up…
Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
I thought: shame there’s no spell to capture moments.
That one would’ve been hilarious.”
Right then, the door creaked open.
Garlan stepped out—hair a mess, eyes half-closed, complexion swinging wildly between sheet-white and tomato-red.
He met Marenna’s gaze.
She scorched him with a glare.
He opened his mouth to speak—
but only an awkward grunt escaped.
And of course, that was the exact moment the village blacksmith walked by—limping, a scythe slung over his shoulder.
He stopped, looked at the three of them.
Then, completely deadpan:
— “First morning of married life? Not bad.”
—
A few minutes later, the trio found themselves outside, surrounded by most of Vinsart’s population.
Nervous faces, curious stares—
some holding farm tools, others saucepans.
But all sharing the same look:
“Well… what now?”
The mayor tried—once again—to give a speech, balanced atop an old apple crate.
— “My dear constituents, friends, and fellow mustache-bearers—for we are all united by the sacred hair— I—”
He was interrupted by a sneeze, a cow’s moo, and a polite silence so heavy he stepped down muttering to himself.
Tharion took a deep breath and addressed the crowd.
— “We’re leaving. Staying here puts you in danger. The demon will return… and he won’t be alone.
He’s after us.”
There were murmurs.
Exchanged glances.
But no one objected.
No one wanted to relive another night like that.
A bent old woman shuffled up to Marenna and handed her a small pouch tied with goat hair cord.
— “A charm from my mother. Keeps bad spirits away. Smells awful, but it scares off bad intentions.”
Marenna smiled, touched.
— “Thank you.”
Then a shy little girl approached Garlan, handed him a wilted daisy, and whispered:
— “You were kinda weird… but you’re nice.”
He had no idea what to say.
He thanked her like a speechless vegetable.
Tharion, without asking anyone’s permission, “borrowed” a cart and strapped it tightly to himself.
Inside: all the gear needed to reach the next major town.
He patted the cart’s edge, cracked his shoulders, and called out:
— “Alright, lovebirds. Hop in. Time to go.”
The lovebirds—crimson with embarrassment—climbed aboard in silence, carefully avoiding all physical contact for fear of spontaneous combustion.
—
After a few hours on the road—filled with Tharion’s non-stop commentary and the rhythmic squeak of wheels—
wonder began to take over.
They crossed a forested valley dotted with giant ferns and improbably colored flowers.
Twisting vines hung from branches.
Flute-toned birds darted between the leaves.
The air was warm, rich with scents of damp bark and sweet pollen.
At one point, they passed a collapsed moss-covered archway.
Tharion gestured to it with his chin.
— “That used to be a mana station.
Back in the day, they were everywhere.
Now? All dead.
Maybe a few still work in protected zones.”
— “Why did they die?” Marenna asked.
— “Something broke the flow.
Like a river diverted.
But that’s not our job to fix.”
A little farther on—
— “Tharion! What is that?!” Garlan shouted, pointing.
A winged creature hovered in the sky—
its iridescent wings spread like stained-glass set on fire, changing hue with every beat.
It drifted with slow grace, like a dream floating through the clouds.
Its flight left behind a soft chime, like a distant windbell.
— “That’s a floravolt. Harmless.
Pollinates flowers.
But the caterpillar version? Not so friendly.”
— “And that?” Marenna asked, pointing to a distant pack of hulking, shadowed forms sprinting between trees.
Low and muscular, they moved like living shadows.
A deep growl rumbled through the air.
— “Worgs. Giant wolves.
We’ll need to keep a fire going tonight, just in case.”
Garlan leaned against the cart, wide-eyed.
He cupped his hands and whispered into them.
— “I wanna try a light spell. Just to see.”
He extended his hand, focused his mana—
Poff!
A puff of green flame exploded in his face.
He stumbled back, coughing.
Marenna burst out laughing.
— “You just invented instant barbecue magic.”
Tharion raised an amused eyebrow.
— “We’re not gonna be bored with you, kid.
Go on—
Enjoy it.
The world starts here.”
