To Vernisha’s surprise, things played out well.

  She had expected him to be egotistical or overly cautious around strangers, but he was relatively friendly.

  “And that is… a toy store. Got some cool stuff—dolls and so on,” he said.

  It was obvious he was being friendly because he thought she was a lost kid.

  “Oh, I don’t really like dolls,” Vernisha said.

  “Oh. Why?”

  “I prefer fake swords. For play sword fighting.”

  She didn’t know much about him—barely knew his interests—but he was probably around fifteen. There was a high chance he liked action and swords.

  Was that a stereotype? Yeah. Did she care? Not really. The odds were damn high that it was accurate.

  “But why? Doesn’t that hurt?” he asked.

  “What’s a little scratch or two? You scared of swords?”

  “Fake ones? I’m not scared. I just don’t like sword play.”

  “You messed with real ones?”

  “Yeah…?”

  “You plan to become an adventurer?”

  He stopped walking and turned to her. “Where are you from? It’s nowhere close.”

  “What made you assume that?”

  “You said something weird. And you talk like you’re stringing all your words together. I have to think for three seconds to understand what you’re saying.”

  And you talk like a fucking old man with dementia, taking forever to say a single word.

  For a moment, Vernisha considered backing out. But if she was right about him having influence, most people would back down to show respect. She needed to stand out instead.

  “I’m from Smal Vaera,” she said. “A village far from here. That’s why I talk fast—so I don’t bore someone by taking ten minutes to finish a sentence.”

  His eyebrows furrowed, relaxed, then furrowed again. “You’re talking about me?”

  “Yeah. Not in a rude way. Just being honest.”

  “Oh… You think your accent is better?”

  “By a lot.”

  He smiled. “You are something else. Who put that idea in your head?”

  “You think the way you Sundawn guys talk is better?”

  “I mean, it’s not a matter of better or worse—”

  “Be honest, dude.”

  “Obviously. Anyone with half a brain would think so.”

  “You’re nicer than I thought. I figured you’d say it’s caveman talk. Or like a child’s gibberish.”

  He chuckled. “I held my tongue back. How old are you?”

  “Twelve.”

  “Oh.”

  “What? You’re acting like I said I was a zombie.”

  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

  “My reaction wasn’t anything like that.”

  “Close enough.”

  “You’re younger than I thought. That’s all. You sure your mom’s okay with you walking around alone?”

  “You going to kidnap me?”

  “How much would you even sell for? Four bronzes?”

  “That’s three more than you’d go for.”

  “My ass.”

  “Isn’t that illegal?”

  “What?”

  “You said ‘your ass.’”

  It took him a couple seconds to process the implication.

  He chuckled, embarrassed. “Oh… You’ve got jokes.”

  “I’m talented.”

  “You should monetize it.”

  “Definitely. Get rich that way.”

  “Rich… I don’t think you’re that funny.”

  “How would you know? I’ve only made a joke or two with you.”

  “Because there aren’t many rich comedians.”

  “I’ll just be one of the few.”

  He smiled again. “What’s your name?”

  “Vernisha Holinstone. You?”

  “Ferzan Starworth. How long do you plan to stay here?”

  Starworth. Big, big shots.

  “Until my family recovers. Medical reasons.”

  “Oh. Cancer?”

  “Christ, why’d you jump to that?”

  “No idea.”

  “It’s probably worse. Just something shitty they ate.”

  “Oh. How’s that worse than cancer?”

  “It’s complicated,” Vernisha said. “But hopefully things will get better.”

  Lo’jul entered the adventurer’s guild, climbed the stairs, and filed his report on the day’s events. Once finished, he changed into a simpler outfit and left.

  Now… his wife.

  He didn’t bother checking the restaurant he’d planned for dinner. There was no way she’d still be there.

  But he checked anyway.

  Outside, sitting on a bench near a patch of red flowers, she was there—playing a dice game on her mark-stone, bored out of her mind.

  He sat beside her. She didn’t turn or speak.

  “Sorry,” Lo’jul said.

  “How was the quest?” she asked, still lazily flicking her finger across the holographic projection.

  “Lots of… deaths,” he replied. “Most of the village got wiped out.”

  That caught her attention. She turned the device off and looked at him. “You… how are you feeling?”

  “Disappointed. It’s one thing when there’s a lot of death—but only seventeen survived.”

  “Damn… I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I’m sure you did your best.”

  “Yeah. But still… sorry for not making it. I really wanted to. And I didn’t have my communicator on me.”

  “I understand,” she said. “You were out there fighting monsters. Doing your mission.”

  “Yeah. But I’d rather have been here. Sitting with you. Smiling with you,” he responded.

  “You’re here now,” she said.

  Lo’jul exhaled. “I’m complaining, not smiling.”

  She stood. “Let’s change that.”

  He rose as well, easily towering over her. “What do you want to do?”

  “Read my mind.”

  “I wish I could.”

  “Let’s make this night great,” she said. “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  “You mean… like—”

  “No. I mean something that lasts.”

  Lo’jul tilted his head up, looking at the stars overhead. “Want to… walk home?”

  “You want to kill my legs? I’m fit, but not that fit.”

  “Let’s just try,” he said. “We used to do it all the time. Walking in the dark. Moonlight. Talking and talking.”

  She smiled at him, pride clear in her eyes, as if whatever doubts she’d had about him were gone. “Sure. I’d love that. And carry me if my legs give out.”

  So they walked home. They took a detour, stopping at a small ice-cream stand along the way.

  “Haven’t seen a damn Pink-terra flavor in a while,” she said.

  “Thought they stopped making it,” Lo’jul replied. “I want to taste it.”

  “You hate it.”

  “I probably like it now.”

  “I doubt it.”

  Inside, Lo’jul ordered Pink-terra in a cone. She took chocolate. Even the server had to remind her twice that it was chocolate—and that she was a Punchio.

  As they walked, Lo’jul asked casually, “Feeling suicidal today?”

  “Yeah, why not?” she said. “‘Death tastes like tits covered in honey.’”

  “Don’t you forget anything?”

  He’d said that line more than once while hospitalized after monster battles. Back then, it had sounded cool—edgy.

  What? Brain damage, broken ribs, half a leg gone? Pft. Should’ve seen me when my girl tried to put her finger up my ass.

  “No,” she said with a half-smirk.

  “Seriously,” he added, “you’re really going to eat it?” He couldn’t quite hide his concern.

  “I’ll just vomit it when I’m done. It tastes too good.”

  “No food is worth playing with your life.”

  “You’re just a pussy.”

  “No food except that,” he admitted.

  She laughed—an ugly laugh. He found it charming. He always had.

  An hour passed. Half of it was filled with talking and laughter. The other half was quiet—just walking side by side.

  As expected, she vomited the ice cream and took her pills.

  They reached their home. Small. Simple. Perfect for them. She unlocked the door and stepped inside. Lo’jul reached for the lights, but she caught his hand.

  “Let’s keep it off,” she said.

  “Oh. Here?”

  “Why not?”

  She pulled him into her. He felt her breast against his chest as they kissed, backing up slowly, both already remembering where the couch was.

  His shirt came off. Then hers.

  He felt the couch beneath him as they fell onto it together. She broke the kiss, her breath warm against his face.

  “I fucking love you.”

  “I love you too,” he said, kissing her again. His hands slid up her back, found the clasp of her bra, unpinned it. The fabric hit the floor with a soft sound.

  Oh.

  “Wait—wait,” Lo’jul said. “I kinda need Geio for that kid who was feasting on monster flesh.”

  “We’ll worry about that afterward.” Her hands traced his stomach, drifting lower.

  “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’m sure she can wait.”

  He became one with her—like salt dissolving into water.