Lor’s stomach growled as he walked down the cobbled street, the midday sun warm on his shoulders, the ache in his limbs a lingering reminder of his morning with Vela and Maris.
An hour ago, he’d been balls-deep in two won, their bodies tangled in a frenzy of lust that had left him spent in the best way.
The effort had burned through his energy faster than any spell practice, and now his body demanded fuel, the hunger gnawing at him with an insistence that matched the satisfaction still humming in his veins.
But as he turned the corner, his mood soured, a sharp curse slipping from his lips. "Shit."
His academy satchel—loaded with notebooks, chalk, and that damn silver coin—wasn’t on his shoulder.
He froze, patting his sides as if it might magically appear, then cursed again, spinning on his heel to head back toward the houses he’d just left.
When he reached the side window of Maris’s ho, he stopped, his breath catching.
Inside, Maris and Vela hadn’t bothered to get dressed.
They were tangled together on the bed, their naked bodies pressed close, lips locked in a slow, hungry kiss.
Vela’s strong hand cupped Maris’s full breast, her thumb brushing the stiff nipple, drawing a soft moan from Maris’s throat that carried faintly through the glass.
The sight sent a jolt through Lor’s core, his cock twitching in his trousers, but he forced himself to stay still.
Quiet as a shadow, he slipped into the hallway through the unlocked back door, his boots silent on the tiles.
His satchel lay where he’d dropped it by the door, the leather strap curled like a sleeping snake.
He grabbed it, slinging it over his shoulder, then paused, his eyes catching on a glint of lace on the floor—Vela’s dark green sports bra and Maris’s delicate white one, discarded in the heat of their earlier frenzy.
With a quick, thief-like motion, he plucked them both up, tucking them into his satchel with a grin.
"For the collection," he whispered to himself, the weight of the fabric against his chest a quiet thrill.
Then he slipped out, closing the door softly behind him, leaving the won undisturbed in their intimate afterglow.
The sun was high now, bathing the town in golden light, the streets alive with the bustle of daily life.
rchants shouted their wares, their voices mingling with the laughter of children darting between market stalls, the air heavy with the scents of grilled ats and fresh-baked bread.
Lor’s stomach growled again, louder, insistent, pulling him toward a small tavern that doubled as a lunchhouse, its sign swaying gently in the breeze.
Inside, the air was warm with the aroma of roasted at and herbs, the low hum of conversation wrapping around him like a blanket.
The waitress—a curvy brunette with a low-cut blouse that strained at the buttons—handed him a nu with a smile that lingered a little too long, her hazel eyes flicking over him with subtle interest.
Her hips swayed as she turned away, the motion deliberate, and Lor’s eyes followed shalessly, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"This town is too generous," he muttered, his voice low as he scanned the nu.
His food arrived quickly: roasted chicken, crisp greens, and a thick slice of fresh bread, still warm from the oven.
He ate slowly, savoring the warmth in his belly, letting the noise of the tavern wash over him—clinking mugs, laughter, the scrape of chairs.
For once, it was a relief to sit in the middle of a crowd where no one looked at him like he was dangerous, or like he was the loser of Class D.
Here, he was just another face, anonymous and free.
But as he glanced out the window, tearing off another bite of bread, sothing caught his eye.
Across the street, Ath stood by her cart, her blonde hair tied back in a tight braid, her plain gray dress unremarkable but neat.
She didn’t move like the other rchants, who barked prices and thrust produce into custors’ faces with eager grins.
Ath just... stood, still as ice, her vegetables laid out in precise rows—carrots, greens, radishes, each one pristine.
Her expression was blank, her icy blue eyes flat and unreadable, and yet, by the ti Lor took another bite, he noticed her cart was emptying.
One custor after another approached, handing over coins, walking away with bundles of produce tucked under their arms.
Ath took the coins, placed them in her pouch with chanical precision, and waited for the next, her face never shifting—no smile, no greeting, no thank you.
Her cart was nearly empty by the ti Lor finished his al, her efficiency almost eerie in its silence.
When she sold the last of her stock, she closed the lid of the cart with a asured motion, the wood clicking shut like a final note.
Lor leaned his chin on his palm, a little grin tugging at his lips.
"So she did it," he murmured to himself. "She actually followed my guidance."
Pride swelled in his chest—not the cocky, swaggering kind, but sothing quieter, more grounded.
Ath, the silent, unyielding girl who never showed an ounce of joy, had listened to him, applied his advice, and now she was selling out her cart, stacking silver coins instead of scraping by with spoiled produce.
For soone who carried herself like a statue, she was starting to change, even if she didn’t know it herself.
But then, Lor blinked, his grin faltering.
Ath returned the cart to its usual place by the shed at the edge of the street, her movents as precise as ever.
For a mont, he thought she was done for the day, retreating to her cottage to count her earnings.
But when she erged, she wasn’t carrying her pouch of coins.
She carried an axe.
The blade glead in the sunlight, its edge sharp and wicked, slung casually across her shoulder as if it were no heavier than a broom.
Without a word to anyone, she walked past the road, her steps steady and unhurried, heading toward the dark line of the forest that lood at the edge of town.
User Comments
0 comments from readers