The morning broke with the faintest breath of frost. Outside, a pale mist hung low over the salt lake, and thin ice glimmered along its edge like shards of glass. The cave, however, was warm—alive with the low crackle of firewood and the scent of dried herbs.
Evan woke slowly, his cheek pressed against something smooth and warm. It took him a moment to realize it was Silas's arm—cool to the touch at first, then radiating a steady heat beneath his skin. The serpent orc lay beside him, propped halfway up on one elbow, emerald eyes watching the flames.
"You stayed," Evan murmured, voice still soft from sleep.
Silas's lips curved faintly. "You told me not to talk when I'm smug."
Evan groaned, rolling over to hide his face in the blanket. "You actually listened?"
A quiet, amused hiss came from Silas's throat—a habit of his when trying not to laugh. "Sometimes."
The cubs stirred in the side chamber, their chatter echoing faintly down the stone corridor. Evan sat up reluctantly, rubbing at his neck. "Guess the day starts now. We have hides to process, jerky to dry… and the kids to keep from destroying something."
Silas moved with slow grace, rising to his feet. His scales shimmered silver-white, catching hints of pale blue from the dawn. "I'll fetch water. You start with the herbs."
He paused, glancing back over his shoulder, the faintest smile playing on his lips. "And, Evan—don't taste the wrong plant again."
Evan threw a small bundle of moss at him. "That was once!"
Silas chuckled, low and quiet, before slipping out into the morning mist.
---
By midmorning, the cave buzzed with activity. Silas returned with water and began sorting the pelts from yesterday's hunt—foxes, hare, and one large antlered beast whose hide gleamed faintly under the firelight. Evan crouched nearby, carefully stringing strips of meat for jerky.
The cubs darted between them, carrying small baskets of salt and herbs. Leo sprinkled salt with wild enthusiasm; Milo followed behind, trying to fix the mess.
"Careful," Evan warned. "Too much and it'll turn hard as stone."
Silas lifted one brow. "And too little, it rots."
Evan smiled faintly. "You just like to remind me that I'm not perfect."
"Not true," Silas said smoothly, slicing through sinew with practiced ease. "You're perfect at worrying."
That earned him a glare, which only made the curve of his lips deepen.
---
As the day stretched on, the tasks continued in rhythm—Evan laying out strips of meat near the fire pit, Silas stretching hides across smooth stones to dry. Occasionally, he would glance toward Evan, his eyes softened by something quieter than admiration—something more ancient, more instinctive.
The light of the fire danced over Evan's face, catching on the silver strands in his hair. His fingers moved with precise care, pressing herbs into small clay jars, labeling each in his neat, rounded writing. There was a gentleness to the way he worked—an order Silas never had before he came here.
"You make chaos look peaceful," Silas murmured finally, breaking the silence.
Evan looked up, surprised. "What?"
"You bring stillness," he said simply, his gaze unwavering. "Even the noise of the cubs feels softer when you're near."
The words caught Evan off guard. His chest tightened slightly—part warmth, part confusion. "You shouldn't say things like that out of nowhere," he muttered, pretending to focus on tying a bundle of herbs.
"Why not?" Silas's tail brushed against his ankle again, feather-light. "It's the truth."
Evan opened his mouth to respond but couldn't find the right words. So he just muttered, "You're impossible," and turned back to work—though his hands trembled just slightly.
---
By evening, the cave had changed.
The air was rich with the scent of smoked meat and drying leather. Bundles of jerky hung neatly from carved hooks, the hides stretched taut and gleaming from the careful oiling. The cubs had long since fallen asleep beside the fire, exhausted after hours of "helping."
Evan sat cross-legged, rubbing his sore shoulders. His fingers were stained faintly red from the meat, his hair a bit messy from the smoke.
Silas watched him from across the fire, eyes half-lidded, the faint glow of the flames reflecting in the depths of his emerald gaze. He had washed, and droplets of water clung to his scales, shining like dew.
"You should rest," Evan said, not looking up.
Silas tilted his head. "I could say the same to you."
"Someone has to make sure the herbs don't burn."
"I can watch them."
Evan arched a brow. "Last time you 'watched' something, we almost lost an entire pot of stew."
Silas's lips twitched. "It was bubbling. It looked… normal."
Evan laughed softly despite himself. "Normal? It was burnt."
"I don't think so..," Silas said, eyes narrowing slightly as if that explained everything.
Evan threw a twig at him. It bounced harmlessly off Silas's chest. He caught it in one hand, twirled it between long fingers, and then tossed it into the fire. His gaze didn't leave Evan's face.
"Come here," he said quietly.
Evan hesitated. "Why?"
"You're tired."
"I'm fine."
Silas moved closer anyway, his tail sliding over the smooth floor with a faint sound. When he reached Evan, he crouched low, his height folding neatly beside him.
"Turn around," he said softly.
Evan frowned. "What are you—"
Before he could finish, Silas placed his palms gently on his shoulders. His touch was warm, firm but careful. He began to knead the knots in Evan's muscles, his fingers moving in slow circles.
Evan exhaled, caught off guard by how good it felt. "You—hmn—you're not bad at this."
"My brother's mate liked to complain of back pain,so he use to massage her." Silas murmured, his tone calm, almost detached. "I learned from him."
Evan froze for half a heartbeat—but then Silas added, softly, "That was long ago."
Something in his voice made Evan's heart twist—an echo of something lonely. He turned slightly, his gaze meeting Silas's.
"You don't have to talk about that if you don't want to."
"I'm not," Silas said simply. His eyes softened. "I'm talking about now."
The warmth between them shifted—no longer just comfort, but something quieter, more tender. Evan's breath caught.
"Silas—"
"Shh," Silas murmured, brushing his thumb lightly over the back of Evan's neck. "You talk too much when you're nervous."
"And you—" Evan started, but the rest of his words vanished when Silas leaned forward.
It wasn't rushed. It wasn't fierce.
Just a slow, deliberate brush of lips against his—warm, certain, and achingly gentle.
The kiss deepened slightly, their breaths mingling in the quiet firelight. Silas's hand lingered at Evan's jaw, thumb tracing the edge of his cheekbone. His tail curled loosely around Evan's waist, not restraining, just holding—like he was anchoring them both.
Evan's heart thudded, uneven and wild. His fingers curled in the folds of Silas's skin, unsure whether to pull closer or push away. But he didn't move.
When Silas finally pulled back, his voice was low and rough. "That wasn't for warmth."
Evan blinked, dazed. "I—figured."
"Then you know what it was for."
Evan swallowed. His face burned. "You're… bold."
Silas's lips curved faintly. "I'm a serpent. We move when we're sure."
Evan groaned softly, half laughing. "You're going to be the end of me."
"Then I'll make it a sweet end," Silas murmured, his voice velvet-dark.
Evan shoved his shoulder lightly, flustered. "You're impossible."
Silas chuckled, low and genuine. "And yet you stay."
The fire crackled between them, casting gold across scales and skin. Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, carrying the scent of snow. Inside, they sat close—two unlikely souls in a world that had forgotten softness, finding it again in each other.
---
Later, when the embers dimmed to a soft glow, Silas lay with one arm loosely draped around Evan. His tail coiled lightly nearby, protective. The children slept soundly in their chambers, wrapped in furs and dreams.
Evan watched the shadows dance on the ceiling, his heartbeat still not entirely calm. "You know," he whispered, "for someone so cold-blooded, you're awfully warm."
Silas's eyes opened, their emerald gleam catching the faint light. "Only for you."
Evan chuckled softly, unable to help himself. "You really need to stop saying things like that."
"Why?" Silas asked, voice low.
"Because you'll make me believe them."
Silas's smile was slow, unreadable. "Good."
Evan turned to look at him, caught off guard again by how beautiful he looked in the dim light—his hair glowing faintly green, his scales gleaming silver-white like frost kissed by moonlight.
"Sleep," Silas murmured, brushing a thumb across Evan's temple.
Evan nodded, leaning in instinctively until their foreheads touched.
The wind outside howled, but inside the den, there was only the quiet rhythm of their breathing—one steady, one soft—as warmth lingered between firelight and scale, human and beast.
---