The cart jolted forward with a lurch that buried Ken deeper in a soft, powdery drift of flour. He sneezed once, twice, then bit his lip to stifle the third. Outside, wagon wheels rattled, and the murmur of the baker's daughter floated through the wooden slats.
"Easy there, you'll shake the bread flat," she called to the driver.
Ken cracked one eye open through a dusting of white powder. Still alive, he thought, and still covered in carbs.
When the last clatter of town faded behind them, the cart slowed. The driver started humming—something cheerful about yeast and profit—and then Ken felt a tap on the tarp above his head.
"You can breathe now, mysterious stranger," came the girl's voice, low and amused.
He pushed the tarp aside and blinked into sunlight. They were already past the fields; the air smelled of grass and heat instead of sweat and iron. "Did we make it?"
"For now," she said, climbing onto the back with him. "Mara's probably tearing half the village apart looking for you."
Ken rubbed flour from his hair. "She always that attached?"
The girl laughed, perching beside him. "Attached isn't the word people use for her. We call her the Huntress."
Ken arched a brow. "Huntress? She's not exactly out shooting deer."
"No," the girl said, leaning close, voice soft enough that only he could hear. "She hunts men. Pretty ones. Stupid ones. Ones who think they can outcharm her. She gets what she wants—money, attention, the taste of them—and moves on. Some say she's half succubus, but I think she's just better at playing the game."
Ken gave a short, incredulous laugh. "So basically, she's every bad decision I've ever made, in heels."
The girl grinned. "You caught her attention, though. That's rare. She usually just drains them and leaves."
He swallowed, a flicker of unease threading through his humor. "Drains? You mean—"
The girl winked. "Exactly what you think. Most men crawl away smiling, but they don't last long after."
He coughed into his fist, eyes widening. "Wonderful. I finally get laid, and it turns out I was nearly murdered by enthusiasm."
The System blinked a smug pink in his periphery.
[Note: Surviving an encounter with a potential succubus grants +10 Fortitude and +5 Luck (Genital). Congratulations, you resilient fool.]
Ken groaned. "Even my stats are mocking me."
"What was that?" the girl asked, frowning.
"Nothing," he said quickly. "Talking to myself. Occupational hazard."
She tilted her head, curious, but let it drop. "So what now? You can't go back, and the next town's a day's ride. You planning to just keep running?"
"Running's my best skill," Ken said with a smirk. "That, and… improvising."
The girl chuckled. "You're going to need both. Mara doesn't stop once she marks someone."
Ken leaned back against the sack of flour. "Story of my life. Every woman I meet either wants to kill me or join me."
Her eyes danced. "Funny you should say that."
He turned his head toward her. "Oh?"
She bit her lip, flour dust ghosting the edge of her smile. "I've been kneading dough and dodging pigpens my whole life. You, on the other hand, attract chaos like a magnet dipped in honey. I think following you might be… worthwhile."
Ken blinked. "Worthwhile? That's a generous word for 'likely fatal.'"
She shrugged, inching a little closer, the warmth of her thigh brushing his. "I like excitement. And I like men who can make me laugh. Besides, if the Huntress is coming after you, I want a front-row seat."
The wagon hit a bump; she fell against him with a startled gasp. His hands came up automatically, steadying her. For a heartbeat, they were pressed together—flour dust and heat, her breath soft against his neck.
"Well," she murmured, looking up at him, "maybe more than a seat."
Ken's grin returned, lazy and wicked. "Careful. Traveling with me has side effects."
"Such as?"
"Blushing, mostly. Occasional bad decisions. Spontaneous nudity."
Her laugh bubbled out, low and bright. "I'll take my chances."
The System chimed again.
[New Companion Added: The Baker's Daughter – Status: Curious / Flirty / Potential Party Member]
[Warning: Prolonged proximity may result in inappropriate thoughts. Proceed.]
Ken couldn't help but chuckle. "Inappropriate's kind of my specialty."
She tilted her head. "You say that like it's a skill."
"It's a lifestyle."
They rode on, sun climbing high above them, the road stretching out like a promise. The flour sacks shifted with every bump, and their conversation slipped easily between teasing and confession. She told him about the dull rhythm of village life; he told her half-truths about being "chosen" by the mysterious System only he could see.
By the time dusk painted the sky red, her laughter had faded into something quieter. She watched the horizon, the wind catching her hair. "If she's really part succubus," she said softly, "you're lucky to be alive."
Ken looked at her, smile faint. "Luck's relative. Maybe I just had a good reason to wake up this morning."
She met his eyes. "And what reason's that?"
He held her gaze, the System flickering one last smug line before night fell around them.
[Quest 5: Begin the Next Mistake.]
Ken's grin widened. "Guess I'm about to find out."
The wagon rolled to a stop beside a thin ribbon of river, moonlight flashing across the ripples. The baker's daughter hopped down, stretching her back until her spine popped. Ken followed, flour still clinging to his clothes like armor.
They made a small fire from broken branches. The smell of baking dough still clung to her—sweet and warm—and Ken found himself glancing over more often than was probably wise. She caught him once and smiled, a quiet, knowing curve of her mouth.
He threw himself onto the grass and sighed. "If this is exile, I've had worse."
The System blinked awake in his vision.
[Companion Scan Complete.]
Trait Unlocked: Maternal Instinct.
Ken squinted. "Maternal instinct? That sounds… wholesome."
[Correction: In her case, it is not wholesome.]
"…define not wholesome."
[Caution: Subject exhibits nurturing behaviors expressed through direct physical contact and feeding tendencies.]
[Advisory: Guard yourself while sleeping. Breasts may be deployed.]
Ken sat up fast, choking on a laugh. "What the hell does 'breasts may be deployed' even mean?!"
The girl looked over, brow furrowing. "You all right over there?"
"Uh—yeah. Talking to the universe again," he said quickly. "It's… chatty tonight."
She chuckled, shaking her head. "You're a strange man, Ken."
"That's me. A walking oddity."
The fire crackled between them, throwing long shadows across the grass. For a while they just listened to the night—crickets, the river, the far-off hoot of an owl. Then she said softly, "You never told me your full name."
"Ken's enough. Too many syllables get me in trouble."
She smiled at that. "I'm Alis."
"Alis the baker's daughter," he said, stretching out his legs. "Saved my life, risked her job, probably doomed her reputation."
"Worth it," she said simply. "You make running away sound like an adventure."
He watched the way the firelight caught in her eyes. "Adventure's mostly running, swearing, and hoping the next town has beer."
"Still sounds better than kneading dough till my hands ache."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. She unrolled a small blanket, sat close enough that their shoulders brushed. Her warmth seeped through his sleeve. The System, ever helpful, pinged again.
[Heart Rate Elevated. Possible trigger: proximity to companion's chest region.]
Ken muttered under his breath, "You're the worst wingman ever."
Alis tilted her head. "Hmm?"
"Nothing," he said. "Just negotiating with my curse."
She laughed, a low, easy sound. Then she glanced at the fire, thoughtful. "You haven't eaten all day. You must be starving."
"I'll survive."
"Still," she murmured, voice going oddly tender, "it's not good to go hungry."
Ken caught the flicker in her eyes—something half playful, half serious—and the System flashed red.
[Warning: Trait activation detected. Maternal response escalating.]
He opened his mouth to ask what that meant, but Alis was already rising, her silhouette framed by the firelight. Her hands went to the laces of her blouse.
Ken blinked. "Wait—what are you—"
[Final Advisory: Initiating nurturing protocol.]
Her fingers slipped the knot loose, fabric parting just enough for the firelight to trace the curve of skin. She stepped toward him slowly, expression unreadable, the warmth of the flames dancing along her collarbone.
Ken froze, every rational thought colliding with pure disbelief. "Oh, come on," he whispered to the air. "You've got to be kidding me."
The System chimed one last time, smug as ever.
[Quest Updated: Attempt to survive maternal affection.]
And that's where the night held its breath.