Lyra was a creature forged in shadows and honed by peril. She had faced down charging griffons, outwitted elven sorcerers, and danced on a razor's edge in the courts of treacherous nobles. In all her life, fear had been a tool, a whetstone to sharpen her senses. But this was different. This was not fear of death or pain. This was the paralyzing, mind-numbing awe an ant might feel as it gazes up at a benevolent, smiling sun, utterly unable to comprehend its scale or nature.
She watched Ren approach. Each step he took was a hammer blow against her carefully constructed worldview. He wasn't walking like a warrior, poised and ready. He was ambling, his shoulders relaxed, his focus entirely on the crimson fruit in his hand. He radiated an aura so profoundly non-threatening it was, in itself, the most terrifying thing she had ever encountered. It was the calm of the hurricane's eye, the silence of the abyss.
Her instincts, screaming at her just moments ago, were now silent, utterly cowed. To attack this being would be like a raindrop trying to assault the ocean. Futile. Pointless. Absurd.
He stopped just a few feet from her hiding place. He still couldn't see her, not her physical form shrouded in shadow-magic, but he was looking right at her location, his gaze soft and patient.
"Still there?" he asked, his voice gentle. "I promise it's safe. See?" He gestured with his head back towards Borin and Gareth, who were now packing cuts of the bear meat onto a makeshift travois. "Everyone's just busy with… well, with dinner preparations."
Lyra's mind reeled. He thinks I'm a shy villager? A hungry vagrant? The sheer disconnect between her identity as a legendary assassin and his perception of her was so vast it was almost comical.
Slowly, agonizingly, she made a decision. Her mission was to assess, and she could not do that from the bushes. Attacking was suicide. Fleeing felt… disrespectful. That left only one, unthinkable option.
Taking a deep breath, she let her shadow-magic dissipate.
To Ren, it was as if the shadows in one particular bush coalesced and then unfolded. A figure rose from the crouch into a kneeling position, materializing from the gloom like a phantom. She was slender but wiry, clad head-to-toe in tight-fitting, black-as-midnight leather armor that left no skin exposed save for her face. Her face was striking, with sharp, feline features, and her eyes… her eyes were a piercing, luminous emerald green, wide with a mixture of caution, shock, and a deep, soul-shaking confusion. Two sleek, black panther-like ears twitched atop her head, and a long, elegant black tail swished nervously behind her, betraying the turmoil her stoic expression tried to hide.
Ren blinked, his friendly smile faltering for a fraction of a second in mild surprise. He had expected a dirty, ragged villager, maybe one of the kids. Not… this. She looked like a character straight out of one of his old fantasy games. His brain, however, quickly supplied a simple, logical explanation. She must be a traveling adventurer. Or maybe a hunter? Her outfit looks very practical for moving through the woods.
"Oh, hello!" he said, his smile returning, warm and genuine. "I knew someone was there. Glad you decided to come out. Must be uncomfortable hiding in the bushes all day."
Lyra simply stared, her keen emerald eyes scanning him, searching for any hint of deceit, any flicker of aggression. She found none. All she saw was… earnestness. An almost childlike sincerity that was completely at odds with the phenomenal power he wielded.
"Here," Ren said, taking another step forward and crouching down to her level, extending the glowing tomato. "You looked hungry. I'm Ren, by the way."
Her gaze dropped to the offering. The 'Sun's Fury' tomato pulsed with a gentle, warm light, its crimson skin shimmering. The aroma it exuded was intoxicating, a scent that promised vitality and power. To her senses, this wasn't a fruit; it was a condensed sphere of pure life essence, a minor artifact that any alchemist or archmage would trade a fortune for. And he was offering it to her as if it were a common roadside apple.
Her training dictated she never accept food from a target. It could be poisoned, enchanted, a trap of a thousand different kinds. But her instincts, the primal beastkin part of her that recognized true power, told her something else. To refuse this offering from this being would be an insult of the highest order.
Her hand, clad in black leather, trembled slightly as she reached out and took the tomato. It was warm, just as he'd said, and a jolt of pure energy coursed up her arm the moment her fingers touched its skin. It was not hostile; it was invigorating, seeping into her tired muscles and weary soul.
She looked from the tomato back to his kind, waiting face. "…Why?" she managed to whisper, her voice raspy from disuse. It was the only question her stunned mind could formulate.
Ren tilted his head, a look of genuine confusion on his face. "Why what? Why am I offering you a tomato?" He chuckled softly. "Because I have a lot of them, and sharing is good manners. Besides, you looked like you could use one. You seem tired."
Tired? Lyra thought. I've been tracking a god for two days without sleep, of course I'm tired! But he said it with such simple observation, not as an accusation, that it disarmed her completely.
Hesitantly, she raised the fruit to her lips. She took a small, cautious bite.
The world exploded.
For a being like Lyra, whose senses were already leagues beyond a normal human's, the effect of the 'Sun's Fury' tomato was cataclysmic. The flavor was a symphony on her tongue, but it was the rush of pure life energy that overwhelmed her. It was like diving into a warm, sunlit ocean after a lifetime spent in a cold, dark cave. Every cell in her body sang. The aches from her long journey vanished. The nagging fatigue that was a constant companion in her line of work evaporated. Her senses, already sharp, were honed to an impossible degree. She could suddenly hear the frantic heartbeat of a field mouse a hundred yards away, see the intricate patterns on a beetle's shell across the clearing, and smell the unique scent of every different type of tree in the forest.
Her emerald eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated shock. A gasp escaped her lips, and she stared at the half-eaten tomato in her hand as if it were the heart of a star. This wasn't just food. This was a divine elixir, a panacea. A single one of these could turn a dying soldier into a champion.
And he had vines of them.
She looked up at Ren, a new emotion dawning in her eyes, eclipsing the caution and confusion. It was awe. Pure, unadulterated, terrifying awe. This being wasn't just powerful. He was a creator. A font of life itself, disguised as a simple farmer.
"It's good, right?" Ren asked, pleased by her reaction. "I was so surprised. I'm thinking of trying to make a sauce with them later."
A sauce? Lyra's mind boggled. He would use a divine catalyst that could rewrite the fate of nations… to make a sauce?
She didn't know what to say. Her mission, her guild, her entire life up to this point seemed petty and insignificant in the face of this reality. She instinctively dropped to one knee, lowering her head in a gesture of profound respect—the way a beastkin acknowledges a clan chieftain, an alpha, a being of absolute and unquestionable superiority.
"Th-thank you… for your gift, Lord Ren," she murmured, her voice filled with a reverence that surprised even herself. The title 'Lord' came unbidden to her lips. It felt… right.
Ren blinked, taken aback. "Lord? Whoa, whoa, no need for that! Just Ren is fine. Please, get up. You'll get your armor all dirty." He reached out and gently patted her on the shoulder, a friendly, reassuring gesture.
To Lyra, his touch was like a mountain giving its blessing. A quiet, immense weight of power, so vast it had no need for aggression, settled her chaotic thoughts. For the first time in years, she felt… safe.
Her mission was forgotten. Her guild could wait. Something far more important had just happened. She had found not just a target, but a force of nature. And it had offered her a tomato.
From that moment on, Lyra the Shadowcat's loyalty had a new, singular focus. It was to the unassuming, kind-eyed farmer who grew sunshine and casually rewrote the rules of the world, all while worrying about making the perfect tomato sauce.