The morning light crept through the windows of Ragnora's bedroom, accompanied by the distant chirping of birds that had somehow found a home even in the chaos of the Holyfield mines.
Outside, the familiar sounds of battle rumbled in the distance—explosions, the clash of steel, the roar of monsters—but inside this room, there was only the soft rhythm of two people breathing together.
Ragnora lay sprawled across Cassius's chest like a great crimson cat. Her head rested on his shoulder, one arm wrapped possessively around his torso, her legs tangled with his.
Cassius, for his part, was absently playing with her hair. His fingers threaded through the wild black curls, working out the tangles with patient, gentle strokes. Every so often, his hand would drift to her horns, tracing the ridges with feather-light touches that made her shiver even in her half-asleep state.
To anyone watching, they would have looked like lovers.
