Van's words still lingered in the smoky air when Asthia suddenly shifted on the cot. Her silver eyes gleamed faintly in the firelight as she reached forward with one bandaged hand.

Before Reth could react, her fingers locked firmly around his. Her grip wasn't strong, not with her injuries, but it was deliberate—unyielding.

The firelight flickered across her pale face as she leaned just slightly toward him, her gaze never leaving Seris.

The silence sharpened like a blade.

Reth stiffened, his breath catching, every nerve alive with the pressure of her cool hand against his. Through the faint pulse of Draconic Resonance, he could even feel Sol stir faintly at the bond, curiosity humming like an ember.

Asthia's lips curled, not into a smile, but into something thinner—closer to a challenge than affection. "You hear him, Seris? Authority suits him. Doesn't it?"

Seris's jaw tensed, the faintest crack appearing in her otherwise rigid mask. Her arms remained crossed, but her eyes narrowed, glinting with a storm that she didn't release into words.

Van whistled low through his teeth, trying—and failing—to smother a grin. "Gods save us, the room just got colder and hotter at the same time."

Reth swallowed hard, caught between Asthia's unexpected grasp and Seris's burning stare. His pulse thudded in his throat, but he didn't pull away. Couldn't.

The weight in the room was unbearable, but he forced himself to meet Asthia's look first, then Seris's. "Enough of this," he said again, though his voice was softer now, weighted more with plea than command.

Asthia didn't let go.

Asthia's grip on Reth's hand held firm, her bandaged fingers cool against his skin, a tether grounding the charged air between them. The firelight danced across her pale features, casting shadows that deepened the intensity of her silver eyes. Seris's narrowed gaze lingered for a moment longer, a storm brewing behind her rigid composure, before she exhaled sharply, the sound cutting through the hut's smoky stillness like a snapped bowstring.

"Fine," Seris said, her voice clipped, edged with something that wasn't quite defeat but close to it. She uncrossed her arms, her movements deliberate, and turned toward the door. "I'll scout the perimeter. Someone needs to make sure we're not ambushed while you two play at... whatever this is." Her words dripped with disdain, but her glance back at Asthia held a flicker of something softer—resentment, perhaps, or reluctant understanding. Without waiting for a reply, she pushed through the door, the creak of its hinges swallowed by the night outside.

Van, quick to seize the escape, stuffed his wineskin into his belt and rose with a theatrical stretch. "Aye, and I'll... check the firewood. Or something." He shot Reth a lopsided grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Don't burn the hut down, yeah?" He clapped a hand on Reth's shoulder—too hard, as always—and followed Seris out, muttering about tangled roots and cursed forests as the door thudded shut behind him.

The silence that followed was heavier than before, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire and a soft, labored breath from the corner of the room. Reth's eyes darted to the source: Elenya, sprawled on a thin mat near the hearth, her body swathed in bandages like a mummy unearthed from some ancient crypt. Her chest rose and fell unevenly, the wrappings stained with faint traces of blood and smeared with the sharp, herbal scent of moonmint and acidroot. Her face, partially exposed, was pale, her brow furrowed in unconscious pain, a low moan escaping her lips as if she were fighting battles in her dreams. The sight twisted something in Reth's chest—guilt, maybe, or the weight of how close they'd all come to not making it out of that watchtower.

He started to move toward her, instinct urging him to check her condition, but Asthia's hand shot up from his, her bandaged fingers hooking into the collar of his shirt with surprising strength. In a single, fluid motion, she yanked him forward, pulling him off-balance until their faces were inches apart. The cot groaned under the shift, her bandaged ribs straining, but her eyes—those piercing, silver eyes—held him captive, burning with a mix of pain, curiosity, and something dangerously close to need. Her breath brushed his cheek, warm and unsteady, carrying the faint tang of herbs and the rawness of her injuries. The air in the hut thickened, the fire's glow narrowing the world to just them, the unconscious Elenya a silent witness on her mat.

"Why?" Asthia's voice was a low rasp, raw and unpolished, stripped of her usual commanding edge. Her fingers tightened on his collar, knuckles brushing his jaw, holding him so close he could see the faint tremor in her lips. "I gave you no order, No command through sigil. The watchtower was falling—flames, stone, those robed bastards with their cursed magic. You could've left me there. Let the fire take me. The sigil would've snapped, and you'd be free. Free of me, of this cursed empire, of everything." Her voice cracked on the last word, her gaze searching his, demanding, pleading. "Why did you save me? Why risk your life, your freedom, for someone who bound you like a chained beast?"

Reth's throat tightened, his pulse hammering in his ears. The System, usually a constant hum in his mind, was silent—no notifications, no cold metrics of loyalty or EXP to guide him. Even Sol's faint warmth through Draconic Resonance felt distant, a mere ember compared to the intensity of Asthia's stare. His hand, still resting on the edge of the cot, clenched the rough blanket, grounding him against the pull of her words. Memories of the watchtower flashed through his mind: the ruby crystal pulsing like a heart, the robed figures chanting, the heat of flames licking at his skin as he dragged her from the debris, his own wounds screaming but ignored.

"Because..." he started, his voice rough, almost breaking under the weight of the truth he hadn't fully faced himself. He met her gaze, unflinching despite the storm in his chest. "Because it wasn't about the sigil. Not then. You were buried, fighting to breathe, and I saw you—not the princess, not the commander, just... you. I couldn't leave you there. Freedom?" He gave a small, bitter laugh, shaking his head slightly, careful not to break their fragile proximity. "What's freedom worth if it means abandoning someone who's fought beside me, bled with me? You've pushed me, Asthia—made me more than some bound tool. That night, I chose you. Not because of the sigal, but because I wanted to."

Her eyes widened, just a fraction, the steel in them softening for a heartbeat before her grip tightened again, pulling him closer until their foreheads nearly touched. The firelight caught the sweat on her brow, the faint tremble in her bandaged hand. "You're a fool, Reth," she whispered, but there was no venom in it—only a raw, unguarded edge that made his chest ache. "A fool who could've had everything you lost back on... wherever you came from." Her voice dropped lower, barely audible, as if the words were for herself as much as him. "Why choose me?"

The question hung in the smoky air, unanswered, as the fire popped and Elenya's faint breathing underscored the silence. Reth's heart thudded, his hand twitching toward hers, unsure whether to pull back or lean closer, caught in the gravity of her gaze and the unspoken bond that had grown through blood, fire, and defiance.

Asthia's lips parted, her breath hitching as she leaned back slightly, her gaze softening but not breaking. The steel in her eyes melted into something warmer, almost vulnerable, though her voice retained a trace of its usual command. "You're a fool, Reth," she repeated, quieter now, almost a murmur. "But a loyal one. Risking everything for me... no order, no sigil to force you. That's not nothing." Her fingers slid from his collar to rest lightly against his chest, the touch deliberate, grounding. "You deserve a reward for that. For pulling me out of that hell when you could've walked away."

Reth's pulse quickened, his throat dry as he searched her face for a hint of what she meant. A reward? His mind flicked to the System—EXP, skill upgrades, loyalty points—but this felt different, personal, uncharted. "A reward?" he echoed, his voice low, cautious, the faintest edge of a question in it. He didn't move, didn't dare break the fragile space between them, the air thick with the scent of moonmint and the heat of their closeness.

Asthia's lips curled into a faint, almost teasing smile, though her eyes held a depth that made his heart stutter. "Don't look so nervous," she said, her tone lighter now, though it carried an undercurrent of something deeper. "Close your eyes."

He blinked, caught off guard, his brows furrowing slightly. "Close my—?" he started, but her raised eyebrow silenced him, a spark of her usual authority cutting through the vulnerability. The System remained silent, no alerts to guide him, no Draconic Resonance from Sol to distract him—just Asthia, her silver gaze unwavering, daring him to trust her in this moment.

Reth exhaled slowly, his shoulders easing as he let his eyelids fall shut, plunging his world into darkness. The fire's warmth brushed his skin, and he could still feel her presence—her breath, her hand resting lightly against his chest, the faint creak of the cot as she shifted. His heart pounded, every sense heightened, waiting for whatever came next. The silence stretched, heavy with anticipation, broken only by Elenya's faint, pained murmur from the mat and the distant howl of wind outside the hut.

Then, soft as a whisper, he felt it: the gentle press of Asthia's lips against his cheek, warm and fleeting, a touch so light it might have been a dream. It lingered for a heartbeat, her breath brushing his skin, before she pulled back. His eyes snapped open, finding her inches away, her silver eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and something softer, unguarded. The firelight caught the faint flush on her pale cheeks, barely visible beneath the bandages.

"You only get this much for now," she said, her voice low, teasing, but with a tremor that betrayed the weight of the moment. Her hand dropped from his chest, falling back to the cot, and she leaned back slightly, wincing as her ribs protested the movement. Her smile lingered, though, sharp and knowing, as if she'd just won a game neither of them had fully understood they were playing.

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