...

  Inside a room clad with warm, wooden panels reminiscent of a chipmunk's cozy home, multiple simple beds lined the walls—each devoid of any garnish, almost sterile with their pastel-green bedding. On one of these beds lay a young woman, motionless, surrounded by an array of talismans that glowed faintly in the dim light filtering through the bloom of lilies hanging off the walls.

  Freya was enveloped in a haze of inertia, her thoughts a swirling storm of hatred and self-loathing. She felt weak, vulnerable—as if the very essence of her being was unraveling, pulled apart by the same monster who had bested her. No, not just bested, but humiliated her—disregarding her earnest efforts and pride with a cruel, overwhelming force. The memory replayed like a recurring nightmare, moments of her failure etched deeper with each repetition, a perpetual torment she couldn't flee.

  Yet, an unfamiliar voice cut through the haze—a young, female voice tinged with both gentleness and an edge of irritation, like a mother scolding her pups. "Honey," the voice echoed softly yet firmly, "do you really think what you did was wise?"

  A cheeky, apologetic response surfaced almost immediately from a boyish voice, which Freya knew, though she couldn't quite place it. "You look really beautiful today, you know—" The attempt at deflection was cut short. "Ow, ow, ow! Fine! I was wrong!" The sound of playful scuffling reached her ears, painting a vivid picture despite her closed eyes.

  The female voice became firmer, each word laced with both accusation and concern. "Now, what did you do wrong?"

  "Not beautiful, but marvelous—" The boy's mischievous smile was almost tangible in his voice, only interrupted by a sudden yelp, followed by mumbling as if his cheek was being pulled. "Ow! Okay, okay!"

  "Okay, what?" the voice demanded, her worry slipping through her stern fa?ade.

  "I shouldn't have fought without Ipe and gone all out against a crazy—" He hesitated for a beat. "Against someone I underestimated."

  Freya felt an inexplicable gaze lingering on her, as if the conversation somehow revolved around her, jolting her consciousness closer to reality, albeit slowly.

  The topic shifted suddenly. "Don't take those if you're hurt! I swear, you're like a reckless pup!" The clatter of metal and a soft thud suggested something had been taken from him.

  A chuckle followed, accompanied by an overwhelming surge of pheromones, making Freya's heart quicken. "I am, though. You bad girl," his voice teased. "Always looking for the really young ones."

  The girl's nervousness was palpable. "I..., no... you can't... you're still too... not here... you..."

  Silence enveloped Freya, thick with unspoken emotions. She could sense the intensity between them, a private moment she had no right to witness—yet it also anchored her, pulling her further out of her nightmare.

  "But you liked it, didn't you?" His voice was soft yet teasing. The beating of a heart seemed to echo in the quiet room, hands clenching fabric, feet shifting uneasily. "Remember when you asked me how it felt? I enjoyed it, and you loved every moment." The sensual undertone stirred something within Freya, her body reacting involuntarily.

  "I did," the girl admitted, sounding both exasperated and affectionate. "I wanted it and asked you, but... is it really okay... I will never forgive myself if you—"

  He cut her off gently. "I said it, and I meant it." His voice softened, dripping with sincerity. "I love you, and if you have those desires, I'll be there to fulfill them. You won't suffer alone. And besides," he added with a playful lilt, "you had to learn a thing or two, darling."

  "Okay," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "But... only if you want, okay? We can stop if you feel uncomfortable, and could you please... you know?" Her words trailed off, her breathing deep and slow.

  "Of course, darling," he replied warmly. "Just tell me what you want, and we'll make each other feel good, okay? As long as we're together, it's no one's business."

  "Yes," she murmured, her tone filled with relief and desire. Then silence fell over them.

  An explosion of pheromones jolted Freya awake. Her eyes fluttered open, and the aura around her became almost suffocating—thick with emotions she wasn't ready to acknowledge. It was unmistakable, the presence of someone experiencing their first mating season—intoxicating, overwhelming.

  'Urgh, where am I?' Her thoughts struggled to coalesce. She stared at the intricately carved ceiling, recognizing the familiar wood of a world tree that every Temple had—a place of healing and reflection. The familiar setting brought a sense of security, allowing her tense muscles to relax slightly.

  But the reprieve was fleeting—memories of the sparring match flooded back, causing her to wince. 'At least I'm not dead,' she mused, tentatively touching her chest where she recalled being wounded. To her surprise, she found herself fully healed. 'How long was I out? There's no way they used a healer after their first blooming.' She frowned, her internal clock suggesting only a few hours had passed since the fight.

  Another wave of pheromones washed over her, assaulting her senses with soft sounds—rustling clothes, hushed whispers, muffled laughter. 'Concentrate,' she told herself, blushing as she tried to give the couple some privacy. The intimate sounds were hard to ignore, making her feel like an intruder.

  Determined to focus, Freya replayed the fight with Alexander in her mind. Her hands clenched as she recalled every moment—the sharpness of the wind slicing her muscles, the searing heat of flames, the biting cold that numbed her limbs, the piercing force that finally overwhelmed her. 'Humiliating,' she thought, gritting her teeth. Her pride as a warrior felt tarnished.

  Alexander was a force of nature, an enigma she couldn't comprehend. She had always believed that mages required years of study, immense intelligence, and disciplined practice to wield spells with any real proficiency. Yet, this boy—not even having reached his legacy—used them fluidly, naturally, as if they were an extension of himself. She shivered at the memory of their clashes, each one more intense than the last.

  But it wasn't just his power that unsettled her. 'That smile,' she recalled, blushing herself. His joy in battle, the way he fought with unbridled passion, unyielding and fearless—a true warrior in every sense. The scars that adorned his skin told tales of hardship and perseverance, adding to his allure.

  Freya felt her cheeks warm as she acknowledged her admiration for him. 'Well,' she sighed inwardly, her body relaxing. 'I should accept my loss like a true warrior.' A proud grin spread across her face, a mix of respect and determination blossoming within her.

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  Just as she was settling back, ready to rest and perhaps plan a rematch in her mind, a familiar name caught her attention.

  "Alex," the girl said softly, her voice carrying a mix of hesitation and desire. "Touch me, I beg you."

  "Really?" he replied, sounding both surprised and concerned. "Isn't it too much? Because—"

  She cut him off, her voice firm yet tender. "No, Alex." There was a rustling sound, followed by a gentle gasp. "Yes."

  'Alex?' Freya's eyes snapped open, her mind racing. 'Could it be Alexander K. Leonandra?' She turned her head slightly, her sharp gaze focusing on the source of the voices. The air was thick with pheromones, making it difficult to think clearly.

  Across the room, she witnessed a scene that left her momentarily speechless. Sarah was leaning in close to Alexander, their faces mere inches apart. "Isn't he..." Freya recalled Alexander's age, trying to understand what she was seeing. He was young, perhaps too young for such intimacy by traditional standards.

  Sarah gazed into his eyes, her expression filled with affection and something more profound. "This can't be," Freya muttered under her breath, her protective instincts flaring. "Get yer hands off 'im!" she growled, her voice low and dangerous.

  Without hesitation, she sprang into action, launching a skillful kick at Sarah. Caught off guard, Sarah took the blow, the impact knocking the wind out of her and sending her crashing into the wall.

  Underneath her, Alexander looked up, confusion etched on his face. "Oh, hey." His smile widened mischievously. "Well, this will be fun."

  "Fun? Are you okay—" Freya began but was cut off. "Are you crazy?!"

  Sarah approached with firm, deliberate steps, her face flushed. "Did your brain get damaged?!"

  Freya squared her shoulders, barely wearing any clothes but some underwear, still refusing to back down. "Shut it! Ye forced yerself on a damn pup! Yer lucky I didn't snap yer neck!"

  Sarah's blush deepened as she glanced toward Alexander, searching for a voice of reason and support. "Oh! My maiden's heart! How may I not give it to my beloved when she is full of desire!" She didn't find any.

  Sarah and Freya's foreheads popped with veins, tension thick—Alexander hugged himself, turning to the side and waving his tail seductively. "Oh, such firmness, such love I get filled with every night," he licked his lips, making both of them blush. "Oh my, will I get filled from all sides in such a cold and lonely night? Will my heart endure such roughness?"

  After a tense moment of silence, Sarah turned to Freya. "You damaged his brain. Take responsibility."

  Freya gasped. "What? Are ye daft?"

  As Freya took a step forward, Alexander laughed out loud. "Bahaha!" He smirked mischievously. "Stop being so sarcastic."

  Sarah began to chuckle while waving her tail at him, imitating his ridiculous act—though Freya didn't have any of it, as she grew even angrier, interrupting their puppyish interactions. "I'll say it plain, but I want ye to tell me what happened here."

  The atmosphere grew serious once more, making even Alexander take it seriously. "Not your business." His voice was matter-of-fact, almost stoic.

  Freya tilted her head, ignoring Alexander entirely as her eyes locked on Sarah. "Nobody asked you," she growled, her voice low and menacing. "I wanna know what this degenerate thought she was up to."

  Sarah shrugged, meeting Freya's gaze without a hint of fear. "Like the poor pup said," she replied, her voice dripping with mockery, "not your business."

  Freya clenched her fists, turning toward Alexander, who sat there with a bemused expression, his fluffy tail wagging lazily from side to side. "Alex, ye can be honest," she said, her tone softening, almost tender. "Even yer own ma'd probably be against this."

  Suddenly, Sarah made a noise, cringing. "Eek!"

  Freya fought to keep a smile from forming. No Noble Household would allow such behavior, and judging by Sarah's reaction, it was clear they had kept this hidden. 'Did she manipulate him?' Freya wondered, her mind racing to the only possible conclusion—Alexander wouldn't know any better.

  But his sigh surprised her, followed by an unexpectedly sweet answer. "Freya," his tone filled with gratefulness, "I understand your worries, but I did it of my own volition, even going as far as persuading her to do it."

  Freya narrowed her eyes. "Ye know," she glanced quickly at Sarah. "Ye can be honest with me—even she ain't got the right to kill me in a Temple."

  Alexander shook his head, looking up at her. "I meant what I said." He smiled, sweet and honest, making her blush. "I love her and wanted to try it, and if you go to Mom to tell, I will take a lie detection test with my life on the line to prove it."

  The air grew tense as if one spark could set the whole place ablaze. Freya locked eyes with Alexander, trying to read the truth in his gaze. 'He's not lying,' she thought, concerned for him, but it was seemingly his choice—one she couldn't just take away without consequence.

  'I really don't like it,' she thought, her shoulders relaxing. There was a lingering unease, but she couldn't simply interfere in their lives further. Alexander—who had bested her brutally without even reaching his legacy—was dangerous. But here he was, acting like a goof, a loving idiot who alternated between mature and puppyish.

  Freya nodded curtly. "Thanks fer patchin' me up." She moved past Sarah, her tone sharp. "I'd be grateful if ye could show me the way."

  Sarah hesitated momentarily, but after Alexander waved her off, she followed, catching up. The hallway they walked down was dimly lit, flickering lanterns casting shifting shadows on the walls. The scent of damp earth filled the air, and the wooden beams above were entangled with roots that seemed almost alive, pulsating faintly with energy. "You know pretty well where to go," Sarah said, her tone stiff, her voice echoing softly in the enclosed space.

  Freya smirked, glancing at the twisting roots along the ground, the earthy smell enveloping her senses. "It's the roots."

  "The one with the scent of worms and earth?" Sarah asked, her nose wrinkling slightly at the musty odor.

  "Yeah," Freya confirmed.

  An eerie silence followed, the only sound being the faint rustle of leaves above and the distant dripping of water. It was almost peaceful, the kind of quiet that made you acutely aware of every breath. Sarah broke the silence almost immediately. "So," her tone shifted, her gaze boring into Freya's back. "What do you want to talk about?"

  Freya didn't answer immediately, her eyes narrowing as she resisted the urge to crack Sarah's head open then and there. The dim light made the tension between them even more palpable, the shadows emphasizing the rigid set of Freya's jaw. She wanted to understand why Sarah acted the way she did. "Why?"

  As they walked further, their footsteps echoed in the narrow corridor. A simple answer came, almost mockingly: "Because I love Alex." Her voice was honest and immature, untainted by the world—a sharp contrast to Alexander, who seemed to understand too much of life's harshness, even while still being unchained in a puppyish way.

  Freya nodded, acknowledging her answer. The roots twisted up the walls around them, their gnarled shapes like grasping fingers. "I see," she said, though doubt lingered in her voice. "Ye'll keep goin' and not wait?"

  Sarah gulped, her heartbeat quickening, almost in rhythm with the faint, distant thrum of the roots. "I will stop if he says so."

  Freya shook her head, her expression slowly contorting as she glanced around, the narrowness of the passage adding to her frustration. "That weren't an answer to my question."

  "Yes," Sarah's voice was a whisper, but it carried determination. "And if you want to stop me, try it."

  Freya and Sarah paused, locking eyes as if daring the other to back down. The dim lantern light flickered between them, casting long shadows stretching toward each other like dueling swords. Freya knew she should let it go, but she couldn't. "I'll be keepin' an eye on the both o' ye while I'm here."

  Freya turned and began to walk away, her footsteps echoing on the wooden floor. "I'll keep it quiet for now, but if I see him gettin' pushed too far—" Her killing intent, though restrained, flared like a sudden burst of heat, crashing into Sarah and making her gasp. The oppressive feeling hung in the air like a heavy fog. "I'll do whatever it takes to tear that pretty head right off yer shoulders."

  This time, as she walked away, her feet carrying her along the winding path, the roots and wooden beams passing in a blur, she felt a wave of disgust with herself. 'Should I?' she wondered, her eyes catching the faint luminescence of the roots, their glow almost judgmental. Yet something about Alexander made her hesitate—something that made her believe he couldn't be easily manipulated or forced.

  After a long moment of contemplation, as the corridor widened and she saw the faint light of the entrance ahead, she shook her head. 'I'll observe for now.'

  As she approached the entrance, the warm light filtering in from outside, contrasting sharply with the cold, earthy interior, she saw her brother walking toward her. His presence made her smile, the warmth of familiarity pushing the troubling questions of morality to the back of her mind.

  "Why are yer in underwear?!" His voice filled with bewilderment.

  Freya suddenly remembered that he had forgotten something, blushing.