The brothel wore its charm like cheap perfume—thick, sweet, masking rot. A swinging wooden sign out front bore the name The Velvet Purr, its letters painted in looping gold script. Beneath it, a pair of lanterns flickered soft red light onto the street, casting a glow meant to lure rather than reveal. Inside, the air smelled of sweat, incense, and faintly burnt mageia.

  Nyxie hovered in the doorway, her tail twitching. The walls were draped in velvet, plush reds and purples that clashed with the grimy floorboards. Beads hung in arched doorways, rattling with each lazy sway of the girls moving between rooms. Maenads, mostly. A few psyads. Their fur or skin glinted beneath the dim light, their eyes catching every flicker like predators biding their time.

  From deeper inside, Nyxie caught the distant moans of males from other races—psyads, dryads, even humans—their voices rough and strained, echoing faintly through thin curtains. She heard maenads trying to mimic those sounds, awkwardly exaggerating the moans, their voices rising too high or falling too flat. It sounded wrong to Nyxie’s ears, discordant, like songbirds trying to mimic wolves.

  Through a gap in the curtains, she glimpsed the shapes that explained it. Bodies tangled together in violent, bouncing thrusts, the motions frantic, exaggerated. One psyad male shoved roughly into a maenad, the rhythm jarring and sharp. It was all so weird.

  Maenad mating wasn’t like this. Their unions were slow, quiet, a gentle coiling of bodies, a blending of scents and touch. It was beautiful. This? This was foreign. Strange.

  Her eyes caught the silhouette of a human male bending low, burying his face into the cleft beneath a maenad’s tail—her cloaca. Nyxie blinked, startled. That was new.

  Flaxia gave Nyxie a nudge, her smile soft. "Don’t be shy."

  Nyxie blinked, her claws flexing nervously. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but the brothel felt too warm. Too close. She swallowed back the ache in her throat.

  "Come along," Flaxia said, leading her toward a curtained arch where the scent of mageia thickened. Behind it stood the madame.

  She was a psyad, layered in a sea of satin that clung to every curve. Her skin shimmered faintly with an alchemical powder, dusting her like frost. Makeup caked thick around her eyes, lashes long as spider legs. As soon as she saw Nyxie, she smiled—sharp, predatory—and swept forward with a practiced sway, voice rich with theatrical flair. "I am Kallisto, mistress of The Velvet Purr, where even the gods might envy the pleasures found beneath my roof." She dipped her chin, a queen bestowing favor on a peasant. The smile didn’t reach her eyes.

  "And what gift have you brought me here? Where did you find her?"

  Flaxia dipped her head, her voice smooth with practiced charm. "Found her scraping the bottom of an alley, mistress. Poor thing's starving, but she's still got that spark. A bit rough, but with the right dressing? She'll shine."

  Sagariphis leaned against the doorframe, a smirk playing at her lips. "Rough is half the fun, isn’t it? The clients like a little wild in their girls. She'll learn quick enough."

  Kallisto arched a brow, her grin curling wider. Her manicured nails, painted a glinting copper, tapped at Nyxie's chin, tilting it up. "You’ll do."

  Nyxie’s ears twitched, but she stayed still.

  Kallisto leaned close, breath warm against Nyxie’s cheek. "Tonight’s a full house. Don’t have time to teach you much. Just wear what I give you, smile, purr a little if they ask."

  She plucked a sheer, glittering scarf from a hook, draping it around Nyxie’s shoulders. "Wrap this around your hips. Show some fur but not too much. Let them want to see more."

  Nyxie glanced down at the shimmering cloth, her ears drooping. "What do I say?"

  Kallisto smirked. "Just let them look at you. That’s usually enough."

  In the corner of the dressing room, Nyxie noticed two maenads sitting quietly on threadbare cushions, nursing infants at their breasts. The babies suckled greedily, their tiny tails flicking, oblivious to the world outside. Nyxie stared, her throat tightening, but Kallisto's sharp voice dragged her attention back.

  "Get out there," the madame said, ushering her toward the main hall.

  The room beyond buzzed with low music and soft laughter. Customers lounged in worn couches, sipping spiced wine, smoke curling lazy trails into the rafters. Most were relaxed, their eyes half-lidded, content.

  The atmosphere was briefly jarred by the sound of the brothel door creaking open, the beads clattering louder than they should've. Two figures stumbled inside, their movements sharp, frantic. A human—broad-shouldered, thick mustache—darted glances over his shoulder, sweat beading along his brow. Beside him, a dryad in a ragged red coat scanned the room like a hunted thing, eyes sharp, jaw clenched.

  They made straight for the nearest chairs, weaving between tables in an awkward, conspicuous path, looking this way and that, checking every corner, every shadow. They flopped into the seats as if it were a barricade, their breathing ragged, the sweat on their brows betraying a fear they couldn’t hide. They didn’t blend in. They couldn’t.

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  Nyxie felt the shift in the room, the way the other patrons ignored the tension rolling off those two.

  Kallisto glided up beside her, smiling with a predator’s grin. "Fresh meat. Probably first-timers. Go on, melt them."

  Nyxie swallowed, uncertain. "How?"

  Kallisto waved a dismissive hand. "Use that maenad charm. Flick your tail, flash a smile, whatever you forest girls do."

  Nyxie approached, her steps awkward. She crouched low beside the dryad, tail flicking uncertainly. Her voice came soft, lilting in the maenad way of courtship. "You smell alive. Your roots must go deep."

  The human stared, blinking. The dryad recoiled, confused.

  Nyxie blinked, unsure, and leaned closer, offering the soft trill maenads used to greet potential mates. Her whiskers twitched. "Do your leaves rustle in the spring?"

  The dryad gave her a wide-eyed look, as though she'd sprouted horns.

  Suddenly, the door slammed open, the beads rattling violently. A Black Cloak stepped inside, hood low, electric mageia sparking at his palms, poised to strike as he scanned the room.

  The human hissed under his breath, words tumbling fast. "Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck."

  The dryad leaned toward Nyxie, voice low. "Get us to your madame. Now."

  Nyxie blinked, ears flicking back. "The who?"

  "Your boss, fuckwit!" the human growled.

  Her tail bristled, lips parting in a soft hiss at the insult, but she turned, leading them quick through the crowded club, back toward Kallisto.

  The human barreled past her into the dressing room, nearly knocking over a rack of scarves. "We take two-on-one special," he said, voice too loud, hands trembling.

  Kallisto arched a brow. "It'll cost extra."

  The dryad flicked a glance toward the main hall where the Black Cloak still prowled, eyes cutting through the haze. "For blight's sake, it doesn't matter! Here!" He threw two fistfuls of karmata into Kallisto's waiting hands.

  The madame grinned, her copper nails catching the light as she scooped up the coins. "Follow me, darlings."

  She led them into a back room—a private chamber draped in heavy velvet, a low bed set at the center, cushions tossed carelessly along the floor. The air smelled faintly of lavender, trying to mask the sweat beneath.

  "Enjoy yourselves, boys."

  As soon as the door shut, the two men sagged, their bodies going slack as they stumbled toward the bed, collapsing onto the mattress, breathing hard.

  Nyxie stood awkward at the edge of the room, fingers fumbling at the scarf around her hips, beginning to untie it.

  "Stop," the dryad rasped, sitting up. "Just... stop."

  Nyxie froze, blinking. Her ears twitched, confused. "What—?"

  The dryad pushed himself upright, dragging a hand down his face. "We’re not here for that. We’re hiding."

  The human let out a long breath, wiping sweat from his brow, his words tumbling in thick, accented Nadic. "Black Cloaks almost catch us. We lucky this time."

  The dryad fixed her with a tired gaze, voice softening. "We’re trying to make a better Livadia. A place where you won’t have to do... this... anymore."

  Nyxie blinked, uncertain, the knot in her chest tightening. She wanted to believe them. She wanted to believe in anything but the muffled grunts and false cries bleeding through the walls. Her tail coiled tighter around her legs, as if to shield herself from the weight of what she’d seen.

  "I'm Aeric Shale and this is my friend... what was your name again, human?"

  "Sempir."

  "Yes, that. We just need a place to lay low," Shale added. "Talk. Plan."

  Nyxie hesitated, then nodded, sinking onto the edge of the bed, her tail curling close. Her ears twitched at the soft, rhythmic thump of bodies in the next room, the moans rising and falling like waves on the shore, wrong and hollow. Even as she listened to Shale's words, the noises pressed in, a reminder of where she was, what was expected of her.

  For a while, they spoke low, voices blending beneath the soft crackle of the hearth.

  "We’re not just trying to survive," Shale began, his voice rough from strain but steadying. "We’re building something better. A Livadia where humans and nadics work together, not under psyad thumbs, not under the eagle." He rubbed his hands together, warming them near the hearth, eyes distant. "The emperor's an idiot. Doesn't see what he's doing. He floods the streets with karmata, tries to buy peace like it can be minted."

  Nyxie listened, her tail curling tighter, uncertainty flickering in her eyes.

  "Solokhian quarter feed itself now," Sempir chimed in, his Nadic rough and clipped, words thick with his Solokhian accent. "Solokhians not always united people. Once, long ago, there were two kingdoms—Solokhians and Nakovians. Nakovians ruled like empire, maybe worse. My grandfather's grandfather tell stories. Nakovians crushed by united Solokhian front. Ended their terror. We do again. Same history, different tyrants. Just like before, now we have cottage industry, small trade. We barter, we build. No nobles, no overseers. Just hands working together. Humans, dryads, maenads like you."

  Shale nodded, leaning forward, voice lowering. "The empire's breaking itself. We just need to give it the last push. Break their supply lines, arm the people. Trade routes from the outer provinces could feed us without the crown."

  Nyxie shifted, her claws kneading the cushion beneath her. Their words felt like sunlight through thick smoke—distant, but real. Could humans and nadics truly work together? Her gaze flicked toward the thin curtain separating them from the rest of the brothel, where another maenad's voice cracked awkwardly in an exaggerated moan. She winced, the sound grating, unnatural. "You think... they would let that happen?"

  Shale's jaw clenched. "They won’t. That's why we have to fight. But together? We can make a world where you never have to wear that scarf again. Where no one has to kneel to psyads or the eagle."

  Hope sparked there in the dark.

  Until the scream.

  It pierced the room, sharp and raw—a maenad scream, high and keening. From the dressing room.

  Nyxie shot upright, fur bristling.

  "What in blight’s name—?" Shale began.

  The scream rose again, louder, pain etched deep.

  Nyxie's claws dug into the bedframe. "That's one of ours."

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