Morning finds me back in the hotel room.
Ashlynn isn't here.
But the scent of her floral soap still lingers in the air, clinging to the sheets, the bathroom doorway—proof she was here not long ago. It settles somewhere in my chest.
I strip without ceremony, clothes dropping where they fall, and step into the bath.
Warm water closes over me. Sweat loosens. Blood thins and vanishes down the drain. The ache in my muscles eases as heat seeps into places that have been clenched. Foam gathers, bursts, reforms. I let my hands drift through it.
It's been a long time since water felt like this. It's comforting.
When I step out, the fatigue no longer clings to me.
I dress in the Hearthlight uniform: black shirt, black trousers. The badge settles into my pocket, weight familiar, grounding.
My coat lies where I left it.
Dark fabric. Torn seams. Old blood ground into the fibers, dried stiff. I lift it, feeling its weight—how much it has carried with me.
Then I take it in hand and leave the room.
Down in the lobby, a familiar voice calls out.
"Monsieur Len."
I turn. Mynar stands near the desk, waving.
"Monsieur Mynar."
"Ah, you've returned," he says pleasantly. "Where were you yesterday?"
"I was…" My gaze drifts upward, unfocused, searching for something passable. "Working."
He nods. "I see. Still, you should have informed Madam Ashlynn. She was worried. She's been looking for you—this morning as well."
"I'll see her soon," I say. "Let her know I'm fine when she returns."
"I will. Enjoy your day."
Outside, I walk until I find a manhole on the street. I pry it open.
The stench rises immediately—urine, rot, stagnant filth. I don't hesitate.
I drop the coat in.
Fabric disappears into darkness. The sound is dull. Final.
I close the cover and step away.
Leaving behind my favorite coat.
After that I head straight to Hearthlight Building. Back to that red brick bastion.
As I enter, a woman approaches.
"Good Saturday, Len," Margaret greets me with a smile.
"Good Saturday, Margaret," I reply, returning her smile.
I turn, scanning the lobby, and finally notice: a tall man draped in wools, like a mountain caveman; a dark-skinned woman in thin fabric, like a desert dweller; a person in leaves, clearly a tribalman. Alongside them, many others from different backgrounds gather in this building.
"Len?"
Margaret snaps her fingers, her gaze fixed on me.
I turn to her, eyes still drifting across the lobby.
"Are you alright?" she asks, eyebrows knitting slightly, lips pressed together as she studies me.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine," I say, forcing the words with a nod, though my attention lingers on the people around me.
Time passes.
I sit at my desk, doing my job.
When Margaret isn't looking, I find my opportunity.
A skin-and-bone man, his skin the color of charcoal and soot, approaches.
"Good Saturday," I greet, smiling.
"Good Saturday," he replies with a small smile. "I want to donate." He reaches into his pockets and places rocks on my desk.
Just before he turns to leave—
"Are you a native Corvanian?" I ask.
"Yes, just like you," he answers, then walks away.
I look down at my hands, pale and smooth, resting on the table. The man's answer feels wrong. Unsettling.
Before the workday ends, Gary calls me to his office.
His back rests comfortably against the chair, posture casual yet deliberate, eyes already fixed on me as I enter. A newspaper lies on his desk.
He lifts a hand, curling his fingers in a silent invitation.
I walk toward the desk. Standing directly in front of him, I notice his gaze shift to the newspaper.
"Read," he says.
I lift it, bringing it close to my face.
The headline reads: "Fake Doctor in Lethor Hospital."
"Continue," he prompts.
I read aloud. "A doctor left her laboratory unattended, and a wandering patient stumbled upon illegal substances. A nurse claims that the doctor in question is always smiling but maintains distance. However, the nurse never expected that the doctor would attempt to bring illegal substances into her laboratory. When questioned, a representative of the Mercy Vale Order claims this is an act of hostile sabotage by the Veiled Canon Order."
"The doctor you mentioned—Beatrix, was it?—she blundered," Gary says, a small chuckle escaping him.
I fold the newspaper neatly and place it back on the desk then turn my eyes to Gary.
"Don't go anywhere near Lethor hospital for the time being."
"Understood."
After that the work ends and I return to my hotel.
Creak.
The hotel door creaks open.
Ashlynn is there.
She doesn't speak. She just steps forward, and I step forward too.
For a heartbeat, we just stand—close enough to feel each other's warmth. Then she closes the last inch. Her arms wrap around me, light and firm while her head rests against my chest. My heart is racing. It feels welcoming.
I instinctively lift my arms, holding her. Her hands clutch the fabric of my coat, pressing me closer. The scent of her—floral, soft—hits me. Familiar, grounding.
We stay like that. No words. No explanation. Just the quiet press of bodies, the subtle give and take, a shared exhale after a day apart.
She tilts her head up slightly. My hand moves to her hair, fingers threading through the strands. She leans into the touch.
A small shiver passes through her. I feel it.
Finally, after what feels like a long breath, we pull slightly apart, foreheads resting together. Her eyes meet mine.
"Sorry I was busy... I should've—"
"Shhhh..." she cut me then—
Her breath brushes mine, warm and soft. Time narrows.
Before I can react, her lips find mine. Gentle at first, almost a question. Then firmer, insistent—a soft press of urgency, a reclaiming of the space we'd lost for a day.
My hands tighten slightly around her, fingers resting against the curve of her back. Her arms squeeze me closer, just enough to pull me fully into her warmth.
We stay like that, moving as one, the world outside reduced to nothing but the press of lips and the rhythm of our breathing.
Finally, we break apart, foreheads still pressed together. Her eyes shine, quiet but telling. No words are needed. None are spoken.
Just the weight of us, returned.
SLAP.
It lands across my cheek, sharp but brief. Sudden but not violent—more a spark of fire. My skin tingles where her palm struck, heat blooming across my face.
"Don't leave me ever again!" Her voice is soft, yet carries the weight of command.
I swallow, pulse thrumming, still feeling the warmth of her hand on my cheek.
I like it. That's why it's a good thing.
After that, I slip into the bathroom for a quick bath. Warm water wraps around me, loosening the tightness in my shoulders, washing away the tension of the day.
When I step out, I dry myself quick, and slip into the bed beside Ashlynn. She turns toward me and begins to recount her day—how she visited places where I might have been, asking questions, retracing steps, worried about me. Her words tumble softly. I listen, half-smiling, half-distracted by the quiet warmth of her presence.
Somewhere in the midst of her story, I feel it—a faint, rhythmic pulsing behind my left eye. Subtle at first but slowly the sensation grows: a low, steady thrum that feels ancient, patient.
The Abyssal Eye awakens.
I blink slowly, keeping my focus on Ashlynn. On her Amber eyes and the mole under her left eye.
I feel my body—my left eye forcing me to relax. Drifting me to sleep. Slowly and calmly.
Eventually I give in and close my eyes.
—
I'm standing in the middle of darkness. No light, yet I can see. Surrounding me is nothingness stretching to the horizon. Beneath me, a deep pool of water—the bottom vanishes into nothing. It's so clear it reflects me, though my face remains blurry.
Somehow, I feel calm here.
Plish. Plash.
Sudden footsteps.
I look around. No one.
I turn. Still no one.
Plish. Plash.
The sound stops directly in front of me.
I look down—and see a girl. Long blonde hair, amber eyes. She walks along the water's surface, perfectly mirroring me—but on the opposite side. Not my reflection. Hers.
"Anyone here?" she asks.
I bend and tap the water. It shivers, ripples like liquid glass, bending the horizon. The reflection stretches, folds over itself, and swallows me slowly. Light bends. Depths twist. Gravity softens. For a heartbeat, I feel weightless, suspended inside the surface itself.
Then I land—soft, wet, and certain—on the opposite side. The water releases me. I'm here. With her.
Her body trembles. Fingers clutching her dress, shifting her weight nervously. Eyes wide, pupils dilated, lips parted in a silent gasp. Her breath hitches. The tension in her shoulders, the slight backward tilt, the sharp inhale.
I can feel her fear.
"Who are you? Where are we?" she asks.
"Don't panic, Ash," I speak with a soft tone, trying to comfort her.
"How do you know my name?" Her voice begins to crack. "What do you want from me?"
I exhale slowly, realizing that trying to explain would only confuse her, maybe frighten her more. Words could hurt here, so I choose restraint.
"When you wake up, you will kiss the man next to you."
Her brow furrows, a mix of concern and suspicion crossing her face. "Okay… is that it?"
"Uhh… wait—don't forget to use your tongue!" I insist, letting a playful edge soften the tension.
She blinks, uncertain, but nods. Her lips press together, still worried, but she nods.
—
I wake up to Ashlynn—as her lips find mine and her tongue slips in.
It moves slow, teasing, swirling against mine. Curves, coils, brushing, pressing. Warm, slick, wet—a delicious, liquid heat that drags and pulls, exploring.
I respond, letting it dance with mine. She twists, presses, curls inside, and I meet it, sliding against her with equal force. The taste, the friction, the slick pull—consuming—fills the space between us.
It's a wet, endless spiral. Tongue against tongue, twisting, circling, dipping, rising, teasing. Every brush, every roll sends heat deeper, closer, as if the world outside no longer exists.
She slowly lifts her head, saliva stretching between our lips in a long, teasing pull.
"Do you like it?"
Chuckles leave her mouth.
"I love it. Do it again?" I tease, half joking.
"I kissed you because I feel like it. You can't force me."
She wink and slowly rises , creating a space between us.
She explains nothing.
Yet it explains something else.