The kitchen still smelled like bread from the night before, warm and faintly sweet, but the atmosphere at the table was tense—at least until Subira broke it with a sigh.

“I want to apologize for what happened yesterday.”

Lyra glanced over her teacup. Across the table, Subira sat with her usual composed posture, but there was a hint of regret behind her eyes. Hassian stood at the edge of the room like he usually did when Subira visited, ready to excuse himself—but she gestured toward the seat beside Lyra.

“Please, stay,” she said. “You deserve to hear this too.”

That earned a skeptical look from him, but he pulled out the chair, sinking into it slowly, eyes never leaving Subira.

“I feel partially responsible for springing Tamala on you like that,” Subira went on. “I didn’t realize you had a... history. I knew she wasn’t well-liked, but I should have mentioned it.”

Lyra shook her head. “I’m the one who should be apologizing for my behavior.”

“No,” Subira said firmly. “You were provoked—verbally attacked, really. And honestly, I should’ve let you rip her throat out.”

That pulled a surprised laugh from Lyra, and even Hassian’s mouth twitched at the corner.

Subira’s expression softened. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry to both of you. And to assure you, Hassian, that if Lyra continues working with me, I consider her a full partner. I have her back completely.”

Hassian leaned back, arms crossed. “Good to know,” he said evenly, though his face didn’t exactly scream trust-fall confidence. “But she might need a bit of time to think things through.”

Lyra sat up straighter. “No. We don’t really have time to waste. I’m ready to get back to it.” Her voice was calm but firm. “But I think it goes without saying—I won’t be dealing with Tamala.”

“Understood,” Subira nodded.

There was a moment’s pause as the air shifted from apology to business.

“Before we were interrupted yesterday,” Subira continued, “we were discussing the essence. I’ve learned we can use it... to get through it.”

“The essence helps with the essence?” Lyra echoed, raising a brow.

“Exactly. That’s where Tamala comes in—she knows how to collect and refine it. I made contact with her after you left, and eventually got her to sell me a small vial. She says her supply is limited, so she’s only selling small portions per person. But she said she’d happily sell more... to you and Hassian.”

Lyra smiled thinly. “Oh, I’d be happy to go shopping.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Hassian said flatly, his voice like a blade sliding from a sheath. He shot her a sharp look. “And neither will I.”
He turned to Subira. “No apologies.”

“None expected,” she replied smoothly.

Hassian folded his arms again, jaw ticking. “So—if you use essence to get through the essence... what if we coated arrows with it? Kill infected puu or shmoles and see if we can harvest more that way.”

“Exactly where I was headed,” Subira said, eyes lighting with interest. “How would you coat the arrows?”

“We can brush it on, then dry them in the forge’s kiln,” Hassian said, already in planning mode. “We’ll make as many as we can. Then Lyra and I can test them out on some ogopuu.”

“I’d like to accompany you, if I may,” Subira offered.

“Of course,” Lyra said before Hassian could protest.

Subira smiled, standing. “Then let’s not waste time.”

The three of them rose, clearing the table and stacking dishes in the sink to deal with later. Plans were forming fast now, and the cool morning air outside would soon give way to the heat of the forge—and the fire they were about to walk into.

Preparing the Arrows

The heat in the forge was oppressive, made worse by the intensity with which Hassian worked. He stood before the open kiln, bare arms slick with sweat, eyes narrowed in focus as he turned and laid another arrow shaft on the rack to dry. The acrid scent of burnt wood and heated iron hung in the air, tinged now with the sharp tang of Flow essence. His shirt, still clinging to him, was darkened with sweat down the spine, but he showed no signs of slowing.

Lyra leaned against a workbench, ostensibly observing—but mostly just admiring. She fanned herself lazily with her hand. “Maybe you should take your shirt off,” she said aloud, the suggestion slipping out with the sort of casual tone that tried way too hard to sound innocent. “You know… for safety.”

Subira, standing nearby with a clipboard in hand, cleared her throat, eyes darting awkwardly to the ceiling.

Sifuu, on the other hand, burst out laughing. “Stars above, girl, at least wait until I leave the room to start undressing my son with your eyes.”

Lyra gave a mock gasp. “I’d never!”

“Oh honey,” Sifuu grinned, nudging her with an elbow, “I’ve seen less intense stares at the Flame Shrine.”

Subira blinked. “Should I… should I go get some water or something?”

“Nope,” Sifuu said, folding her arms with amusement. “You stay. You need to witness this level of distraction for science.”

Hassian, oblivious to the entire exchange, muttered something about spacing the arrows better and reached into the kiln again.

Sifuu’s laughter finally settled into a smirk, but her expression sharpened. “Now, on a more serious note—” her voice lowered, cool and lethal, “—that whole circus yesterday? Shouldn’t have happened. You don’t throw my girl into a room with that venomous gremlin and act surprised when someone gets bit.”

Subira let out a slow sigh. “You’re right. I genuinely thought it would be… a harmless detour.”

Sifuu arched a brow. “You don’t detour through a sinkhole and call it scenic, sweetheart.”

Subira grimaced.

“And just so we’re clear,” Sifuu added, tone sweet as honey but with a blade tucked underneath, “if Tamala so much as breathes in Hassian or Lyra’s direction again, I will personally relocate her jaw. Somewhere scenic.”

Lyra covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. “I really, really want to see that.”

Sifuu winked. “Popcorn’s on me.”

Hassian turned then, wiping his forehead with the back of his wrist. “I had just enough to coat twenty arrows each,” he announced. “We’ll need to make them count.”

Subira nodded. “No pressure.”

Hassian glanced over at Lyra and gave her a wink. “Hotshot and I won’t have a problem with that.”

Lyra smirked back at him, her fan now working overtime.

“Alright,” Subira said, shouldering her bag. “Let’s see if these things actually work.”

As they moved to leave, Sifuu waved them off with a dramatic sigh. “You all go have fun with the monsters. I’ll be here… sweating in a forge like an unloved ormuu.”

The Hunters

They arrived at the edge of the Elderwood with their weapons ready and a shared sense of purpose. The air here always felt heavier, charged with ancient tension and wild Flow.

Subira adjusted the strap on her satchel. “If we encounter Tamala out here,” she warned, “it would be best if you two let me handle it. Ignore her.”

“Agreed,” Hassian said without hesitation. “I’ve spent years working on self-discipline, and if I let go today… I’ll be in jail.”

Lyra let out a slow sigh. “Agreed… we’ll just make out.”

Hassian dropped his hand to his forehead, groaning. Subira blinked once, then muttered, “How do you two get anything done?”

They made their way to De Mer Dock, where they began prepping bows and fitting the modified arrowheads Hassian had forged.

“This is where I shine,” Lyra said confidently as she inspected the shafts.

“You always shine, baby,” Hassian murmured with a wink.

“Let’s stick to the blues,” Lyra said, stringing her bow. “They require fewer arrows.”

“Yes, boss. You’re the expert hunter,” he replied with mock solemnity. They exchanged a quick kiss before setting off side-by-side into the tangled woods.

With only forty essence-forged arrows between them, every shot mattered.

They kept low and silent, scanning the terrain for the telltale glint of corruption. It didn’t take long.

“Waveback,” Hassian whispered. They waited. It was followed by a sluggish emerald ogopuu, then another waveback—or maybe it was the same one circling back. It seemed like hours passed in a blur of slime and hoofbeats.

Eventually, Lyra raised her hand. “Blue icky on the right,” she called softly. “Target it and move right—when it runs, it’ll head west. If we don’t shift, those trees will cut off our shot.”

“Loose on three,” Hassian replied. “One… two… three.”

Twin arrows sliced the air, striking the ogopuu’s flank. It huffed and bolted, just as predicted.

“Move!” Lyra hissed, and they both sprinted.

Hassian was faster this time. “One, two, three!” he shouted. Another volley, and the ogopuu collapsed with a final grunt.

Lyra whooped, dropped her bow, then launched herself at him, arms and legs wrapped tightly around his torso.

“It worked! Hunter, you’re so smart and I’m so proud of you!”

Hassian, still holding his bow in one hand, managed to half-catch her with the other. “First time I’ve ever been hugged mid-hunt by a fellow archer,” he muttered, laughing.

Subira shook her head as she moved in to harvest the essence. “You two are chaos.”

They kept hunting, fell into rhythm. Nine more infected blue ogopuu fell before them, each one adding to their growing haul. Subira harvested from every one, precise and careful. By sunset, she had twenty glowing vials of purified essence tucked away.

Hassian looked at them with satisfaction. “That’s a solid start. I can probably forge around four hundred arrows from this.”

Lyra stretched her arms overhead. “If we want to multiply it faster, we need more hunters in the field.”

“Oh no,” Hassian groaned. He looked at Subira “If you think we’re chaos, just wait.”

They both smiled.

Cool of the Night

The stars were rising by the time they slipped into the conservatory. Cool evening air flowed through the cracked windows, laced with the scent of distant sea salt and pine. The day had been long—brutal, and wildly successful—but the adrenaline had worn off, and in its place was bone-deep exhaustion and a quiet ache for each other.

Hassian pulled the curtains closed behind them, shutting out the world. Lyra stood by the bed, toweling the ends of her damp hair. She’d already changed into one of his old shirts—soft, loose, well-worn. She hadn’t even buttoned it. He stared for a beat too long, letting his eyes drag from her bare thighs to the smirk forming at the corner of her mouth.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she teased. “You’re the one who said you were tired.”

“I lied,” Hassian said, crossing the room in a few slow, heavy steps. His voice dropped as he reached her. “You looked like that. I changed my mind.”

She laughed—soft and warm, undone by the hunger in his eyes.

He didn’t waste time. His hands slid around her waist and pulled her in, and she let the towel fall. He kissed her, slow at first, then deeper. Hotter. His lips moved over hers like he was making up for lost time—every moment they hadn’t had in the last two days, every knot of tension they hadn’t been able to untangle. Her fingers found the back of his neck, drawing him closer, and he groaned against her mouth as the tightness in his shoulders finally gave way.

Hassian pulled back just enough to look at her—really look. His thumb brushed her cheek, rough but tender. “You undo me, Lyra,” he said, low and raw. “Every damn time.”

Before she could answer, his mouth was on her again, urgent now. They fell back onto the bed in a tangle, laughter cut off by gasps as heat took over. His shirt slipped from her shoulders easily, and she arched into his touch, her skin still damp from the shower but warming fast under his hands. He kissed a path down her throat, her collarbone, lower still—his lips dragging heat over every inch until she was trembling beneath him.

She tugged his shirt up and off, fingers tracing the familiar lines of his chest and the scars she knew by heart. His body was heavy above hers, solid and unyielding, but every movement was controlled, careful, like he wanted her to feel the strength without ever fearing it. She pulled him down and whispered, “Don’t hold back tonight.”

He didn’t.

There was no hesitation in him—no restraint, no space left between them. Only heat. Only need. Only the two of them giving in, without holding anything back. His hands roamed her body with a hunger that matched her own, every touch grounding, every kiss leaving her breathless. She clung to him, legs wrapped tight around his waist, pulling him closer, closer, until there was no line between where one ended and the other began.

They moved together like it was instinct, like their bodies had been waiting for this exact rhythm. Every shift, every sound, every gasp built higher, sharper, until the whole world narrowed to just them—their heat, their breath, the desperate ache that finally, finally broke in a shuddering rush.

When it was over, they lay tangled beneath the blankets, flushed and panting, hearts still racing.

“You’re here,” he murmured, his lips brushing the damp skin just beneath her ear.

Lyra nuzzled closer. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He wrapped his arms around her and closed his eyes.

For now, there was no Elderwood. No infected beasts. No ancient magic or scheming witches.

There was only the woman in his arms—and the fierce, undeniable truth that she was his, and he was hers.