The shock nearly emptied Kael of breath. His legs went weak, as if someone had cut the cords inside them.
Verdis did not notice. Seeing him stall, she half-lidded her eyes, breath warm and unsteady, voice thick with want. "What is it, little menace?"
Cold sweat crawled down his spine.
Gods—she's a scorpion.
Her limbs twined around him again, coaxing, shameless. "Hurry. Look at me—I'm soaked through."
Kael wrenched himself free with a violent surge, shoving her aside. His body still throbbed with heat, but his face had gone white as ash. "Fifth Sister—I… I drank too much. My head's splitting. And it's late. We leave at dawn. I need to go."
He turned and fled.
"What?" Verdis reached for him, missed, and snapped, "Idiot—get back here!"
But he was already gone, swallowed by the sea of blossoms.
She stood there, fuming—then froze.
Behind her, the great segmented tail had risen of its own accord, black-green and gleaming in the starlight.
Understanding hit like a slap.
"Damn it… damn it!" she hissed, stamping her foot. "Of all times—why show now? A once-in-a-lifetime catch, and I scare him off like a fool—!"
She had drunk too much, eaten too freely of his Condensed Essence Draughts. The surge of power and pleasure had loosened her control. The mask slipped. The tail betrayed her.
Her eyes narrowed toward the direction he'd fled.
"You won't get far, Kael Ashvane."
—
Kael ran without direction, crashing out of Verdenhall, tearing across the Jadewash Valley, and only stopped when the slopes of Vane's Summit rose beneath his feet again.
The stars were high. He had no sense of how much time had passed.
He stumbled into his room, slammed the door, and sagged against it, breath ragged. The wine surged back through him, heavy and relentless, dragging his limbs toward collapse.
But he remembered—he had not packed.
Grinding his teeth, he forced himself upright and began gathering what he needed.
He unfastened the Wardian Satchel from his waist. His gaze drifted inside—and landed on the Lone-Bud Branch.
A crooked smile tugged at his lips. "Better let you breathe, little thing."
He drew it out and set the jade-glazed bottle on the table. Lady Perelda had said dew would suit it best.
"I can barely stand, let alone go chasing dew…" he muttered. "This will have to do."
He flicked a Condensed Essence Draught into the water.
The liquid shimmered faintly.
Good enough.
He swayed as he moved, picking up and setting down items with uneven hands. Then something tugged at his memory. He turned to the bed, reached beneath the pillow—and drew out a thin booklet.
The smirk returned.
"Wouldn't want to forget this."
He had bought it in secret in a mountain town weeks ago.
He flipped it open.
The images struck like embers to dry tinder.
Bodies entwined. Limbs locked. Flesh pressed to flesh in impossible configurations.
And suddenly—
Verdis.
Her eyes, wet and heavy-lidded.
Her lips.
Her pale skin, gleaming beneath the blossoms.
A pulse of regret ran through him.
Why did I run? What was I thinking?
His thoughts spiraled. He tried to recall what he had seen beneath the flowers—but it slipped away from him, blurred by shock and drink.
What does a woman even look like there?
He swallowed.
I should've looked. Even if it killed me.
"Hey. What are you staring at?"
Kael jerked like he'd been stabbed.
He snapped the booklet shut and shoved it under the pillow.
Selene stood beside the bed, watching him.
"You—" he snapped, rattled. "You could knock."
Then remembered—she never did.
"Knock? The door was open." Her eyes narrowed. "What are you hiding? Gods—you stink of wine. You've been drinking?"
"No."
He tried to sound steady. Failed. "What do you want?"
"Can't I come by without a reason?" she shot back, already looking around the room. "Master gave you something today. Show me."
Kael's head throbbed. He wanted her gone.
Fast.
He stripped the Eight-Claw Flamescourge from his arm and tossed it to her. "Here."
"And you?" he added. "What did you get?"
"Nothing worth bringing." She turned the weapon over in her hands. "Mira's was better."
She fed Vitae into it.
Nothing.
Switched to Aether.
Still nothing.
"What did she get?" Kael asked thickly.
"A flute. The Earth-Spirit Flute. Doubles the strength of her summons. She called eight earth constructs at once this afternoon."
Kael let out a low whistle.
Selene snapped the whip through the air. It cracked sharply.
"Feels ordinary," she said. "What's it do?"
"It's called the Eight-Claw Flamescourge," he muttered. "I'll show you tomorrow. Now go. I'm dead on my feet."
She frowned.
Then, without warning, she lunged—snatching the booklet from beneath his pillow.
Kael swore and threw himself forward—but a sweep of her hand, guided by the Whirlpool Art, sent him crashing back onto the bed.
"What's this?" she said, already opening it. "Hiding techniques from me?"
She flipped a page.
Then another.
Her ears went crimson.
"This—this is—"
"Give it back," Kael groaned.
She snapped out of it, fury blazing over the flush. "You filthy pig! Sneaking around with trash like this?"
"What's the big deal?" he muttered. "Looking doesn't hurt—"
"What? Shameless!"
She tore the booklet apart.
Page by page.
Kael howled. "Don't! That took effort to get—my book—!"
The scraps fluttered down like dying petals.
She dusted her hands, righteous as a priest. "You deserve worse. Kael Ashvane, you should be ashamed."
His face went dark. "You tore my book. Replace it."
"Oh, now you have a spine?" she shot back, hands on hips. "Drunk, are you? You snuck off the mountain earlier, didn't you?"
"So what if I drank?" he snapped, breath hot with liquor. "Master didn't forbid it. You don't control me."
"A little is fine. Not this." Her anger sharpened her beauty. "I'm your Soror. I'll correct you if I must."
"I like drinking!" he barked, stepping forward. "I'll drink as much as I want!"
Her eyes flashed. She dropped the whip. "What—want to fight?"
"Afraid?" His voice broke into a snarl. "Tonight I'll teach you a lesson, you meddling little tyrant."
He swung.
She caught his arm cleanly, redirected it, and struck his side with a palm that drove the air from his lungs.
Pain exploded through him.
He lashed out wildly.
She slipped every strike. Countered. Controlled. Efficient.
He came at her like a drunk beast.
She moved like water.
The Water-Spirit Art flowed through her limbs, each motion dissolving his attacks before they could land.
He staggered, vision swimming. His form broke down into chaos.
Then he saw it.
The whip on the floor.
He rolled, snatched it up—and something in him steadied. Instinct took over.
He snapped it upward.
A clean arc.
Selene stepped aside—
Too slow.
The lash tore across her shoulder. Cloth split.
She froze.
He had struck her.
Kael stared.
Her robe hung in tatters at one side. Pale skin bared. Beneath it, a strip of green silk hugged her chest.
His thoughts twisted.
So that's what she wears beneath…
Color flooded her face.
"Think I won't let you use a weapon?" she snapped, breath sharp. "Fine."
She moved.
The Heavenpool Step.
Fluid. Unpredictable. Closing distance in a blink.
Kael swung again—too slow.
She slipped inside his guard.
A crack rang out.
His head snapped sideways.
"That was for Master."
She vanished.
Reappeared at his flank.
Another strike—his neck this time.
"For First Soror."
He reeled. Tried to gather his fire.
Nothing came.
The Sundering Flame Art refused him—his channels muddled by drink.
She struck his chest.
"For Second Soror."
Each blow was measured—but they stacked. Disorientation swallowed him.
A realization crept in, cold and sharp.
She's stronger than me.
Damn it.
Wrong night to be drunk.
He broke.
Turned.
Ran for the door.
"Running?" she called, almost amused.
Her sleeves snapped.
Aether surged.
Invisible force hooked him mid-stride—dragged him backward like a fish on a line.
Her foot slammed into his backside.
He stumbled forward two steps—
Then stopped.
Completely.
Selene blinked.
Something had changed.
She stepped closer, a grin forming. "That one was mine. Mira's still—"
He turned.
Slowly.
His face—
Wrong.
Not rage. Not fury.
Something colder.
He lowered his gaze. "You can strike a man's head. You can strike his face."
His voice was quiet. Flat.
"But you do not kick a man there."
He lifted his eyes.
"That is the last line of his dignity."
Selene faltered. "I—I didn't mean—"
"Anyone who does…" His grip tightened on the whip. "I make them regret it for life."
He struck.
She froze.
The lash fell—
—and at the last instant, he diverted it.
Wrapped her wrist instead.
Her body lurched.
He caught the other wrist the same way.
Bound.
He moved fast—faster than before—closing in, two fingers blazing faintly with fire.
He drove them into her lower abdomen.
Sealed.
Her Crucible locked.
Her strength vanished.
She dropped to the floor.
"What are you—"
He was on her in an instant, pinning her down.
His fist rose—
Stopped.
He glared down at her, breathing hard.
She stared back, chest rising, then lifted her chin. "Hit me. If you dare."
His jaw clenched.
He couldn't.
She saw it. "Then let me up."
He didn't move.
Instead—his gaze drifted.
To her shoulder.
Bare.
Smooth.
Pale.
Heat stirred again.
"Don't—look at me like that," she said, voice tight.
"I'll do what I want," he shot back, reckless now.
He reached.
Her pendant slipped free in the struggle—the Frost-Griffin Pendant swinging between them, its carved eyes seeming to gleam.
His arm brushed her chest.
Lightning.
He froze.
She sucked in a breath, stifling a sound.
"Stop," she whispered. "Enough."
He didn't.
Something darker had taken root.
He grabbed her shoulder.
Tore.
Cloth ripped free in his hand.
More of the green binding beneath revealed. Fine silk. Delicate stitching—noble make.
Memory flickered—her trip to Aureheim. The cart of clothes she'd brought back.
So that's where it's from.
"You—what are you doing?" she breathed, pale now.
A slow grin spread across his face.
"I found it," he said softly. "The right punishment."
"You tore my book." His eyes gleamed. "I tear your clothes. Fair."
"You wouldn't—"
He tore again.
The silk strained, then split further. The curve beneath pressed tighter against the fabric.
His mouth went dry.
"That book had twenty-one pages," he said lazily. "I've only paid back three."
Her vision swam.
Another tear—
"I swear I'll kill you!" she cried.
The threat snapped something in him.
Right—she still had Aether.
He moved fast—faster than she could react—two fingers striking her brow.
Seal.
Her Sanctum locked.
Now she was cut off completely.
She struggled—useless.
He pressed her down harder.
Their bodies slid together. Skin against skin.
Heat surged.
He saw her waist arch beneath the torn robe—smooth, pale, trembling.
Something snapped inside him.
The memory of the blossom grove. Verdis's breath. The heat denied him.
It all came roaring back.
His hand slipped beneath her robe.
Gripped her waist.
She shuddered.
He dragged the whip through a quick pattern—binding her wrists to the bed legs, spread apart.
She lay half-reclined, helpless, staring up at him.
He breathed hard.
She looked different now.
Not the sharp-tongued Soror.
Something softer. Frightened.
Tempting.
His hand shot forward.
Tore the remaining binding from her chest.
Silk gave way.
Her breasts sprang free.
Small. full. flushed.
Perfect.
She gasped, twisting—but couldn't cover herself.
His restraint shattered.
He fell on her.
Hands and mouth roaming, desperate, consuming.
She writhed beneath him, the whip tightening with every movement.
His mouth closed over her nipple.
Heat. Taste. Softness.
He sucked, hard, unrestrained.
Her body arched with a strangled sound.
He didn't stop.
Didn't think.
When he finally pulled away, he dragged his mouth downward—over her stomach, to her waist—fingers already working at the tie of her skirt.
Her breathing broke into gasps.
The air in the room felt thick. Hot.
He rose slightly, voice rough. "Let's see if you still bully me after this."
His hand plunged inside her undergarment.
"No—!"
She jerked—but froze as his fingers found her.
Her body reacted before her mind could catch up.
His touch slowed.
Careful.
Curious.
He found something small—trembling—slick.
Alive beneath his fingers.
She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.
He pulled his hand free—
Then slid it beneath her hips, hooked the cloth, and stripped it away.
She tried to fight—
His knee pinned her legs open.
His hand returned.
Deeper.
More certain.
Her resistance broke.
Sensation flooded her—hot, invasive, impossible to ignore.
Her body softened despite herself.
He pushed her skirt up.
Looked.
Dark softness. Pale flesh. A glistening seam, parted by his touch.
He stared.
Hungry.
He stripped himself quickly, breath ragged.
Hard. Hot. aching.
He pressed against her.
She felt it.
Something alien.
Massive.
Burning.
"No," she gasped. "You can't—"
He didn't stop.
He pushed.
Met resistance.
Tight.
Yielding, but not enough.
He drew back slightly. Pushed again.
The pressure built.
Pleasure twisted through him.
So this is it.
So this is what those images meant.
She shook beneath him, fear rising, confusion twisting into something else—something hotter.
"Please—don't—"
He thrust again.
Harder.
Something gave.
A sudden, sharp break—
—and he drove in.
Fully.
Heat exploded through him.
She cried out, body arching, teeth clamping down on his shoulder as the pain tore through her.
And in that moment—
the boy crossed a threshold he could never uncross.