Aiden blinked, and the air itself seemed torn. A ripple of presence, a shimmer of intent—one heartbeat she was distant, the next she was near enough to taste the iron of her breath.
His body reacted before his mind did: steel rasped free, his sword lifted, and then.
Tang!
The clash shook him to marrow. The weight of her blow thundered through his wrists, into his bones, rattling his teeth.
The vibrations lamented his grip, mocking his weakness. His heels scraped stone as he staggered back—five steps before he even knew he'd moved.
"Flora…" he forced out between clenched teeth, raising his voice as if words could deflect steel. "Talking about it would be suffice, than using sword."
The plea wavered. He wanted it to sound steady, reasoned, but his chest betrayed him. His heart hammered too fast, the rhythm uneven—like a drum beaten by a drunk soldier.
Flora's golden eyes burned. She tilted her head, her hair—golden like glorious treasure—sliding across her cheek as if even strands of it dismissed his words.
"I don't know what you are talking about," she said. No hesitation. No mercy in the syllables.
Her sword rose.
Then it fell—
Tong!!!!
Not like a dancer's blade, not a duelist's flourish. It was a hammer. Brutal. Merciless. The air cracked with the weight of it, and the ground itself seemed to shiver in sympathy.
Aiden braced, both hands locking his sword's handle, one on the hilt, the other choking the blade's tip. His knees trembled. Stone dug into his boots as he bent, the blow forcing him down as if the world itself had decided to rest upon his shoulders.
"Flora… why can't you just accept it?" The words tore out through gritted teeth, his voice ragged with strain.
"Like I told you, I don't. Know. What. You're talking about!" Her voice rose, each word hammered with fury. She bore down harder, pressing him closer to the earth.
His jaw clenched until pain splintered down his neck. The air was thick with her scent—something wild, sharp, like steel left out in a storm. It filled his lungs, dizzying him.
Her hair fell forward, strands brushing his cheek, his lips. Too close. Far too close.
He realized her rhythm. The shift of her weight, the surge of mana in her body.
She's gonna kick me again.
The thought stabbed through him like lightning.
He twisted to dodge, but she was faster. A feint. A trick.
Her knee tensed—but her fist came.
The knuckle cracked into his jaw, bursting with mana. The sound was wet, brutal, echoing in his skull. Stars exploded across his vision.
"Fuck… it was a trap…"
The ground embraced him, cruel and unyielding. His cheek scraped dirt. His thoughts blurred into a single complaint: Gods, I am so naive.
Still, survival clawed through him. He grabbed for his sword, fingers fumbling, breath ragged.
But too late.
Cold kissed his throat. Her blade. His end.
"And you are dead…" Flora said softly. Then harsher: "Mother. Fucker." The words dripped venom, each pause a nail hammered into his pride.
He swallowed, lifting his hands. "Okay, okay—you won…" His voice cracked with reluctant defeat. He extended a hand to her, palm open, seeking not mercy but the simple grace of being pulled back to his feet.
Her eyes narrowed. Then softened—just a flicker.
"Hmmm… but you have talent. I will give you that," she said at last, and her sword eased back. She clasped his hand.
Relief warmed him for a breath. Too soon.
Because Aiden smiled.
And then—he pulled.
His leg hooked hers, twisting. She yelped—not fear, not anger, but surprise—and fell.
"Ohhh…" she breathed, soft and low, as her body collapsed atop his.
The world slowed.
Her bare chest pressed against him, warmth and weight undeniable. Her hair—long, unruly, fragrant like ash and lilies—draped over his face. She hovered above him, her golden eyes glimmering like molten coin in firelight.
For an instant, she was not his opponent. She was… something else.
Aiden's lips curved into a dangerous grin. "If this was a battlefield," he murmured, pressing the flat of his blade against her stomach, "you would be dead."
Her eyes sharpened, but not with fear. "Then kill me…" she whispered, voice laced with dare. "If you dare."
The challenge burned. His body responded before thought could warn him. His hand tangled in her hair, pulling her closer. His lips crushed hers, rough, consuming. His tongue pressed into her mouth, claiming her.
"Ummmnn…" Flora's moan spilled, muffled, trembling. Her body tensed—struggling, resisting—yet she didn't pull away. Not entirely. Not completely.
The kiss lingered, reckless, scandalous under open sky.
When he finally broke it, strands of saliva connected them, dripping down his neck like molten glass.
Her breath trembled. Her cheeks flushed red, a warrior undone by closeness rather than blade.
"You… are you brave, or just mad?" she asked, her voice unsteady, as if unsure whether to be angry or impressed.
"Both," he said, grinning. "Just couldn't help it when you're so close."
Her gaze faltered, heat rising across her skin. She looked away. For the first time, silence clung to her tongue.
"So… are you going to move over," he teased, "or…?"
She didn't answer. She rose slowly, her hand crossing her chest, covering herself—not modesty, not innocence, but because her body betrayed her. Hardness against softness. Shame only now surfacing.
Her lips tasted copper. She touched them, realizing his blood mingled there. Maybe I hit him too hard, she thought fleetingly. The intimacy of it unsettled her more than the fight.
Aiden pushed himself upright, jaw aching, stomach screaming. Yet his lips curved upward, savoring the taste of her and of battle both.
"Flora…" he said, the weight of his voice different now—less pride, more surrender. "I need more experience. More, more experience. So I don't mind… you training me a bit."
It cost him pride to admit it. Pride he usually cloaked himself with. He had been too confident in bed, too certain of conquest in silk. But steel was another matter. This world was not ruled by kisses alone.
Flora's lips tugged upward into a smile—mischief and hunger entwined. "Only if… you promise to visit me every night from now on."
The words hit harder than any blow. His thoughts flickered, chaotic.
Cathe. Sabrina. Akidna. Luna.
He'd wanted them all, tasted them all, cherished some more than others. But Flora—he had been ignoring her, pushing her aside as if she were just another shadow. Yet now… now she was the fire in his veins.
"…Okay," he said finally. But his grin sharpened. "But you think you can take my sword? You already know—it's way, way longer and sharper, with more weight to it." He lifted his steel meaningfully, letting innuendo drip as heavy as the blade itself.
Flora's eyes narrowed. But her lips curled in defiance, a blush betraying her.
"Try me…" she whispered.