The inn was warm.
Built into the hollow of a great root-beast tree, its walls breathed a slow pulse of life, moss glowing faintly along the wooden grain. Crystals dangled from the ceiling like captured stars, casting gentle light over simple tables carved from stone and bark.
The Black Wolf sat at the center table.
Armored helmet retracted.
Steam rising from his plate.
Axel didn't say much. He ate in slow, clean motions. A knife in one hand. A mug of heated root-ale in the other.
Kyra sat pressed to his side, legs swinging beneath the bench, clutching a half-eaten honey biscuit like it was gold. She didn't move far. Barely blinked. Her shoulder rested against his side, her cheek occasionally brushing his arm like she needed to make sure he was real.
Brakka tore into a leg of smoked beast with her sharp teeth, eyeing them between bites.
Sylthea sipped from her tea, sharp eyes watching everyone, always calculating.
Korrak chewed slowly, but he wasn't tasting anything. His gaze had shifted several times to the girl beside Axel. The way she clung to him.
The way Axel allowed it.
There was no awkwardness. No hesitation.
Just mutual gravity.
Korrak set his cup down with a thud.
"I've been thinking," the troll said, scratching his chin. "Back when we couldn't find him… Kyra nearly lost her mind."
Everyone paused.
Kyra looked up, blinking.
"I mean it," Korrak continued. "She cried like the world was ending. Wouldn't eat. Wouldn't sit still. Even tried running into the forest alone."
Brakka leaned back. "I had to hold her down."
Sylthea's brows furrowed slightly, lips pursed in thought.
Only Axel and Kyra didn't seem surprised.
Korrak turned his heavy head to the goblin girl. "Kyra. What is he to you?"
Kyra didn't hesitate.
She smiled. Not the mischievous grin they were used to. Not the giggling troublemaker look.
Something older. Something true.
"He's my everything," she said softly.
The table went quiet.
Kyra glanced down at her hands, then continued...
"He's my supporter. My friend. My protector. My light. He saved me when no one else did. He held me when I cried. He never lied to me, never left me. He's... home."
Brakka's chewing slowed.
Sylthea leaned in slightly.
Korrak scratched his chin again, deeper in thought.
Then Sylthea turned to Axel. "And you?" she asked gently. "What is Kyra to you?"
The inn was still. Even the background murmurs of other guests faded.
Everyone watched him.
But Axel didn't pause. He didn't have to think.
"She's my friend. My heart. My strength," he said.
He looked down at her, hand brushing her back.
"She's my everything."
Then he looked back up, voice unwavering.
"My light."
The silence that followed was sacred.
None of them expected those words from a man like him. But when he said them, it wasn't weak.
It was weight.
Brakka, Korrak, and Sylthea all realized it at the same moment.
This wasn't a bond of family.
Nor friendship.
Nor command.
It was something more primal.
A symbiotic tether.
Two souls stitched together by survival, pain, and something deeper than either could explain.
Not lovers. Not siblings. Not father and daughter.
Two broken halves who needed each other to be whole.
Brakka grunted, reaching for another drink.
Sylthea looked away, suddenly unsure where to rest her gaze.
Korrak exhaled like a man who finally understood the edge of something holy.
Later that night, the group retired.
Two rooms had been given to them by the druids, hollowed, bark-smooth chambers with soft moss beds and woven curtains of leaf and silk.
Sylthea and Brakka shared one room. They slept in separate beds, though Brakka snored loud enough to shake the vines off the ceiling, and Sylthea muttered curses under her breath in six languages.
Korrak, Axel, and Kyra took the other.
Korrak had already his bed, he laid down without hesitation and settled in with his arms folded over his chest, one eye open like a warrior refusing to sleep.
Axel lay on the bed farthest from the door, armor in sleep mode, chest rising and falling slow.
Kyra curled against him, small frame nestled on top of his chest, fingers bunched into his undershirt.
Her breath was slow.
Content.
His hand rested over her back.
Protective.
He didn't sleep at first.
Not really.
He listened.
To the rhythm of her breath.
To the faint hum of the forest beyond the living walls.
To the voices in his head that had finally, finally quieted.
And he thought to himself...
I was built to destroy. But she made me something else.
Outside, the forest kept its vigil.
The stars whispered.
And the Black Wolf rested.
With his light.