Sunlight crept across the bed like a soft caress, its golden glow filtering through the tavern's window, warming the worn floorboards.
Mira stirred slowly, blinking into the light, her body registering the gentle ache in her thighs, the lingering warmth deep inside her, and Kio's arm wrapped possessively around her waist.
Her bronze skin glowed, her full breasts sensitive beneath the fire pattern—a non-magical tattoo etched beneath her left breast, its crescent arc a quiet guide for her fireblood's control.
Her toned stomach shifted as she breathed, her hips flaring to a rounded, firm ass, her long, muscular legs tangled in the sheets, her red hair spilling wild over the pillow, framing her sharp jaw and full lips.
Kio slept beside her—bare, calm, his lean frame still, his breath steady, scars faint across his shoulder.
Mira's fingers traced his ribs, gentle, not to wake him, but his dark eyes opened, ever awake, meeting hers in the morning hush.
Neither spoke as they rose, the tavern's silence wrapping them in a fragile, intimate embrace, the air heavy with cedar, wax, and the faint smokiness of Mira's fireblood.
Mira dressed in silence, slipping into black trousers, her blouse hanging open, her breasts swaying faintly, the fire pattern's lines catching the light with each exhale.
In the kitchen, Kio handed her a warm cup of mint tea, its steam curling upward, blending with the scent of fresh bread and smoldering embers from the hearth.
She sipped, her amber eyes soft, unguarded.
Kio folded a scarf—hers, mended where it had torn a week ago during a fireblood flare, the stitching fine, unnoticed until now. He placed it beside her plate, his hands steady, his presence a quiet anchor.
Mira ran her fingers over the stitches, her breath catching.
"I never stay," she said quietly, her voice raw, a confession.
"I know," Kio replied, his tone calm, warm.
"They'll come for me again," she said, her eyes lifting to his, referencing the Pyromancer Guild's judgment. "They always do."
"You'll be ready," he said, his voice a steady promise.
Mira's lips twitched, a faint smile. "I was ready because of you."
Kio didn't reply, pouring more tea, his silence a balm.
When Mira stood at the tavern's threshold, satchel over her shoulder, boots laced, her red hair braided tight, she turned to him one last time, her amber eyes glistening.
"Will you think of me?" she asked, her voice soft, vulnerable.
Kio stepped forward, taking her palm, his touch warm, steady.
He pressed a small stone into her hand—smooth, cold, etched with patterns mirroring her fire pattern, a non-magical token of her chant's rhythm.
"I'll hear you breathe," he said, his voice low, a quiet vow. "That's enough."
Mira's eyes misted, not with pain but with something gentler, a warmth beyond her fireblood.
She stood on her toes, kissing him once—long, soft, final, her lips lingering, her breath mingling with his.
She stepped back, her satchel shifting, and walked out, the door clicking shut behind her.
The tavern fell still, the hearth's embers glowing faintly, the silence heavy with the weight of her absence, a quiet pause before the next arrival.