He knew he would return.
Desire? Curiosity? Or just... the hell called "a woman touched you then ignored you"?
Whatever it was, his feet led him to the door once again.
He knocked.
There was no response.
Then...
The door opened on its own.
Slowly.
A faint creak, as if the house itself was sighing from the heat.
And she appeared.
The alchemist.
Half-naked.
The black robe had become mere smoke wrapping around her thighs and shoulders. As for the rest of her body? It was as if the night itself had spilled and frozen in the shape of a sinful woman.
Her chest was half exposed, and the white hair cascaded down like a rebellious curtain over coveted curves.
She smiled... half a smile, half a threat.
"You came back?"
Eiron stood at the threshold. He didn't enter.
He said, his voice hoarse:
"You said the potion would be ready."
"And it is."
She turned around.
The robe slipped slightly from her hip, revealing her collarbone like a promise of a deadly kiss.
She didn't adjust it.
She walked inside, her voice pouring out as if distilled from the mouths of witches:
"Come. Take what you came for."
He entered.
Closed the door behind him.
The room was warm, saturated with the scent of scorched leather, strange herbs, and unfulfilled pleasure.
She stood at the table.
Placed a small vial on the wood.
Its color was transparent pink… containing a liquid resembling the saliva of a woman being kissed for the first time.
"Your potion," she whispered.
He approached.
Grabbed the vial.
The moment his fingers touched the glass, a notification appeared:
[Acquired: "Midnight Tremor – Type II"]
[Description: Enhances senses, accelerates physical response to stimuli, opens instinctive interaction pathways for a temporary duration.]
[Effect: Lasts 20 minutes. Not recommended during official meetings.]
He closed the panel. Put the potion in his pocket.
But his eyes… weren't on the notification.
They were… on her.
He took a step forward.
Then said:
"Why?"
"Why what?" she replied, wiping her hand with a cloth like she was ridding it of sticky guilt.
"Why do you want to kill Garon? You… and his brother?"
She looked up at him.
One look.
No anger. No surprise.
Just… the look of a woman who knows the question itself is a futile attempt to understand the incomprehensible.
She approached.
Just one step.
She stood in front of him.
Placed a finger on his chest, over the shirt stretched tight across his muscles, then slid it up to his neck, then cheek, then… his lips.
She said, in a voice like a secret injected directly into the ear:
"You're here… to get what you want."
Then she whispered, as if scratching the answer with her nails:
"Not to ask what's none of your business."
Eiron gasped involuntarily when she bit his lower lip, then withdrew as if she had retreated from his very depths.
"One more question…" he murmured.
She raised an eyebrow:
"You insist on being more than just… a client."
He smiled mockingly:
"And is that what I am?"
She reached for the robe, slipped it off her shoulders… slowly, deliberately, as if unveiling a forbidden continent.
It slid.
Until it fell to the floor.
Now… she was entirely in front of him.
Naked. Completely.
Her body gleamed under the dim lights, glistening like a lustful sculpture from forbidden ages.
She said:
"Client... beggar... pervert... but smart enough to know when to shut up."
Then she stepped forward.
Her body pressed against his, their heat clashing like a chemical brawl.
Her thigh rose over his leg, her breast pressed against his chest, and her lips neared his ear as if blowing a promise.
She whispered:
"Get what you came for."
Then she kissed him.
The kiss? Slow… soft… then rebellious, as if reshaping his mouth anew.
Her tongue entered his mouth as if searching for guilt stuck in his throat since childhood.
And he? He almost forgot everything.
Her hand crawled to his cock, gripped it as if pressing the detonation button of a man who forgot how to control himself.
His body began to respond… sweat thickened, heat expanded, and breath leaked from his chest as if in a lustful death throe.
But...
Suddenly.
In the middle of all that madness… he pulled back.
Quickly. Sharply.
As if something inside him suddenly screamed: "Enough."
He stepped back.
Then again.
Before she could speak, he said with icy coldness:
"Unfortunately… this time… I don't crave anything."
He said it while wrapping his robe.
His voice? Arrogant, haughty, like someone rejecting the rituals of a goddess of pleasure in favor of meditation in a cave.
The alchemist remained standing, completely naked, her hair covering half her chest, but she didn't move.
Her expression changed.
Faded.
She said, in a low but astonished voice:
"What happened to you… in one night?"
He replied, his eyes ignoring everything on her body:
"Good question."
Then he turned, lifted a strange vial off a shelf as if to drink, then set it back.
"But it's none of your concern."
The alchemist raised an eyebrow.
Her eyes narrowed, but her lips stayed tight.
"So… what did you come for?"
Here… Eiron smiled.
A new smile.
Cold.
Calm to the point of chills.
Then said:
"I want your help to kill Garon."
The silence was a whip.
The alchemist didn't move.
Didn't speak.
But her eyes… lost their playfulness, and readiness appeared in them.
"Repeat what you said."
"You heard me."
He stepped toward her, just one step.
"I… want to take part in killing him."
She whispered, as if discovering an answer she feared:
"…Selina."
He didn't reply.
But his gaze alone was enough.
Enough to turn all the sexual heat into lethal frost.
She said after a moment:
"I didn't think you were that type, priest of lies."
He replied calmly:
"That's because you didn't ask the right question."
She walked to the glass shelves.
Looked, then pulled out an amber vial containing slowly floating spheres.
"Scorching frog eggs. One orb can blow up a man. But they won't help you."
Then she lifted another vial, small, its glass dark as if hiding death.
"I'll give you this instead. Concentrated poison. Slow. Tasteless, odorless. Dissolves in anything."
She looked at him:
"If you want to kill Garon… be a woman… and be patient."
Eiron took the vial.
His fingers touched hers.
But this time… it wasn't a seductive touch.
It was the touch of shared crime.
Eiron was slipping the poison into his pocket when he suddenly said:
"Since everyone won't shut up about this village being on the border…"
He turned to her, an eyebrow raised:
"…what lies beyond the border?"
The alchemist blinked, looked at him as if he asked about the shape of dreams after death.
"…what do you mean?"
"I mean… country. Kingdom. Tribe. Call them what you like. What's the next entity past this muddy backwater?"
She laughed, a soft laugh, but with a grain of wonder:
"Country? It's been ages since anyone used that term like it's in a children's atlas."
Then she walked toward the small map hanging on the wall, tattered and stained with blood and wine.
She pointed at a dark spot to the north:
"Beyond this place... begins the Kingdom of Kirith. A mix of everything: humans, half-breeds, werewolves, remnants of jinn, clanless vampires. Even dragons have their place there."
She sighed:
"But they've been struggling lately… poverty, chaos, roaming famines… some cities burn for unknown reasons, others vanish because someone sneezed."
Eiron nodded, not too interested, as if taking notes for a future exam.
"Nice."
Then turned toward the door.
His first step was heavy.
The second… lighter.
But he paused at the threshold.
And her voice came from behind him, soft, laced with an unseen smile:
"Don't you… want a taste of me?"
Silence.
The air between them compressed, as if the wall itself choked.
Then he turned halfway.
His eyes half-lidded, a slanted smile on his lips, and said:
"Hm… tempting idea, but…"
He raised an eyebrow, then finished with biting coldness:
"I'd rather lick a candle from the last century… I think it'll give me a warmer and less wrinkled experience."
Her face froze.
Her eye twitched for a moment.
But her lips remained smiling… despite the stab.
"Leave, you insolent bastard."
"You did the easy part… I'll do the important one."
He opened the door.
And left.
He walked.
Two steps. Three. Then...
He slapped himself.
The sound was loud. The echo of skin on skin bounced between the narrow alleys.
"Damn you…" he muttered.
As if what he had just done was a betrayal of a sacred principle… or of his own body.
He had missed a chance that would've been told for generations of perverts like him.
The alchemist was in front of him, available, submissive, pulsing like a hungry candle...
And he? Refused her.
Refused her!
He raised his hand again, as if to slap the regret sneaking up his side, but then stopped.
Damn...
He remembered the feel of her skin, the warmth of her thigh on his leg, and the way her tongue searched his mouth like it was hunting for a dormant desire.
He exhaled.
A moment.
The old Eiron returned. That lecherous, horny fool. The grinning bastard who chased anything that jiggled.
Then suddenly...
He calmed.
His shoulders dropped.
He breathed.
His hand touched his pocket.
The vial was still there… the concentrated, silent poison.
He remembered Garon's eyes. Their numbness. The blind trust he had offered him.
He remembered Selina, how she was breaking, bit by bit, under the weight of their fake life.
He remembered the dagger from the dwarf and wondered: Why now, exactly?
The thorned wolves were at the gates.
And Zara... Zara might be following him now.
Ready to expose him, or embrace him… no one knows which comes first.
He closed his eyes, and sighed slowly.
Then, simply:
"I need to finish my plan. Fast."
He raised his head. His eyes gleamed with calculated coldness.
"In the end… everyone in this village will kneel to me."
Then he smiled.
A twisted, quiet smile… full of possibilities.
"Or just… end."