Mira’s cherished treasure was lost and found, fixed back in place by Adelaide’s own hands. Even as that spell-like voice in her head whispered restraint, her heart fluttered like trapped moths. Her uninjured left arm moved on its own, circling behind Adelaide, wanting to pull her sister close.

“I…” Her voice trembled like dew on a leaf. Adelaide heard it and quietly shut her eyes, bracing for the warmth like sunrise breaking the frost.

“Hands up. Both of you.” A sudden female voice cracked behind them like a whip. Their bodies seized, half-born motion freezing into ice.

Adelaide opened her eyes, anger shading her brows like storm clouds. She turned slow; being cut off from solitude with Mira already soured her mood, and the blunt threat sprinkled salt. A sacrificial urge to burn the intruder to ash flared like a coal in her chest. It thinned to steam when she saw the woman’s face.

“White-haired one, don’t say I didn’t warn you—keep that hand sneaking behind your back and I won’t be polite.” The words rang like iron. Adelaide’s fingers, mid-sigil in the dark, stilled. She rose, showing her hands where the stranger could see them.

Across from them, moonlight like stage lamps spilled over storm-torn ruins, sketching the silhouette of a woman. More precisely: a beastkin woman. Waist-length dark chestnut hair rippled like dunes; atop it, two round lion ears pricked. Her eyes were long and feline, blue-gold like smelted metal.

Her clothes were bare-bones, desert-simple. No corset, no stays—only loose strips wrapped across her chest and a plain shawl. Below, a pair of heat-scorched shorts split by scuffs, leaving wide swathes of light-brown skin, a neat swimmer’s line at her waist, and lean, ready muscle exposed like taut bowstrings. Even with bandages crisscrossing like pale vines, the overall coverage—compared to the Empire’s layered finery—felt a gust too modern.

But Adelaide wasn’t shocked by the openness of desert wear; she raised her hands for one reason. The woman held a bow, aiming down on them like a hawk. The nocked arrowhead glowed with the same golden sheen that had punched through Firefly’s skull moments ago.

Seeing her clearly, danger flooded Mira’s eyes like drawn steel. She planted her sword, ready to rise into a fighting stance, but Adelaide slid in front of her, a shield of quiet.

“Pointing an arrow at a lady’s back runs against the ‘honor’ you beastkin brag about, doesn’t it, miss?” Her words had bite like frost. Behind her, she squeezed Mira’s hand, a soft blink saying clear as lantern light—leave this to your sister.

“If you won’t lower the bow, what comes next is something neither of us wants.”

While Adelaide took the negotiating stance, the beastkin’s attention barely touched the words. Her predatory pupils dropped, the focus sliding from their faces to the space between them. When she saw their fingers interlocked, her round ears twitched like leaves in a breeze.

“If you don’t get Common,” Adelaide switched tongues, sand-dry and lyrical, “I can also—” she shifted to Elven, light as rain, “—say it another way—”

“Hey, you two… are you doing fingerplay?” The interruption hit like a pebble to still water. Adelaide blinked.

Fingerplay? What does that even mean?

She felt it as a euphemism, a shadow pointing to some act—but which one? Her mind skimmed her fresh list of desert slang, dusting off nothing. Must be beastkin cant. Something finger-related…?

She followed the woman’s gaze, looked down at her hand clasping Mira’s. Dust of magic still clung from the half-formed sigil, starlit motes glowing in the dark like fireflies. The thought sparked.

Of course. Fingerplay—people skilled at work that needs nimble fingers. Pair that with the spot she’s staring at, and there’s only one fit.

Fingerplay means mages like us, tracing arrays with our fingers, born to wield magic.

Adelaide liked her deduction, pride rising like a banner. What mage isn’t proud of deft hands? Pride blinded her to Mira’s face going scarlet from neck to ear-tips. Before Mira could get out one “No,” Adelaide cut in, loud and clear.

“No—” “That’s right, we’re fingerplayers!”

Varie’s eyes went foggy for a beat, confusion like mist. She hesitated, then asked, “…Are you threatening me?”

“Sure am. Unless you want a live demonstration—be wise and lower the bow.” Adelaide squared her shoulders; blood-red light leaked from her fingers like embers. The beastkin actually flinched; her face twitched, and the bow dipped, arrow no longer aimed dead-on.

See? She’s scared—Adelaide turned, grinning at Mira with starlight in her eyes. She found Mira stunned and crimson, the blush racing up to the tips of her ears like wildfire.

…?

No time to untangle it. The beastkin burst out laughing, a river breaking its banks. “Puh—hahahahaha! Even those high-and-mighty, long-eared Elf snobs wouldn’t say it that naked. And you—threatening me with fingerplay—”

She laughed until tears beaded like dew, her earlier guard melting. Adelaide stood there, utterly lost.

Oh, right. Beastkin prefer pouring mana into flesh, sharpening fang and sinew; they despise Elven-style fine arrays and delicate sigils. So she’s mocking me—a proper mage.

Adelaide’s brows knit, displeasure tightening like a bowstring. Her conclusion begged for a retort. But she and Mira were ragged, and this beastkin had just punched through Firefly’s defense. Reason tugged hard, smothering the pride of the Blood Mage like sand over flame.

“Fine. I get your purebred beastkin ‘opinions’ about us.” Her gaze cut to the bow, the gold glow taut as a wire. “Now, can you put the arrow away?”

Varie’s grin faded like a tide. She breathed deep, slow as a bellows, then raised the bow again, sighting them like a falcon. “No can do, fingerplayer. Give me a reason to trust you.”

“Trust?” The word tasted like iron.

“You’re using Blood Magic, aren’t you.”

Adelaide glanced at her right hand, red power pooling like liquid garnet. “Yes. But another creature here was using Blood Magic—”

“I saw when I shot. The naked woman with a meat tumor on her back.” The cold interruption cut clean, and confusion bit deeper.

“If you saw that, what are you doing now?”

Varie swept the flattened village with a look, face flat as a blade. “You both use Blood Magic. How do I know which side did the fine work and slaughtered everyone?”

Adelaide paused; her eyes narrowed into knives. “You realize with that presumption of guilt, I can’t prove innocence.”

“I don’t care. Honestly, not pinning you to her and giving a chaos-tainted fingerplayer a chance to prove herself is mercy.”

“Don’t push it, lion girl.” Adelaide’s voice chilled like water on iron. She’d only just snapped the hypnosis binding her mind; she was more impulsive than usual. Prodded like this, reason barely smothered the heat coiling low like a furnace. Her fingers began to move; across from her, the bow drew full, string humming like a taut reed.

At the hair-trigger edge, Mira stepped forward, leaning on her sword like a cane. Adelaide’s earlier words still painted her cheeks dawn-red; her gaze at Varie held a knot of feeling. Even so, she spoke.

“Seron—” The word was foreign to Adelaide, a sound like a chord. Yet she saw pale gold spill from Mira’s lips, carried by the night breeze, falling away like sand. Mira wasn’t casting; Adelaide knew it. That gold felt like the glow on Varie’s arrowhead.

And somehow, a breath of longing drifted from it, thin as incense. “Seron?” Adelaide echoed, but the air spun no gold for her.

Varie’s brow lifted a finger-width. Then she lowered the bow.

“No idea who you learned that from, but…” She turned and hopped off the ruin with a small thud. “Alright. Keep up.”

…?

Adelaide stared at the swift turn, then at Mira, her mind a field of question marks. “I think… it’s fine now.” Mira’s eyes drifted like leaves. Adelaide opened her mouth to ask, but Mira’s knees gave. Adelaide moved to catch her, and at that instant her last strength array fizzled out. They went down together, a clumsy tumble and a pained yelp.

“S-sorry.” Adelaide gritted her teeth, tugging a smile like pulling thread, ready to soothe. Varie just looked at them, speechless, then turned and whistled.

A soft thump landed nearby, but the shadow that rose behind them loomed far larger. Warm, damp breath washed their backs. Adelaide turned. Two bronze-bell eyes stared. A blood-red maw yawned—

Then scooped them in one easy toss onto its back.

Adelaide sank into a wide cushion of golden fur, softness unreal as clouds. “This is…?”

Varie beckoned. The beast under Adelaide padded to her side and lowered its head, letting Varie rub the fur on its face like sun-warmed grass.

“My good partner. You can call her Barni.”

Barni. Her?

Adelaide looked down and finally registered it—she was astride a massive lion.

“Relax. She won’t eat you.” Varie wore a look that said she was enjoying the show. Adelaide bristled and snapped back, sparks in her eyes.

“Coming from the one who had a bow on our heads, that’s doubly reassuring, lion girl.”

“I’m not ‘lion girl’. I’m Varie.” She said it, then sighed, rubbing her temple. Adelaide still glared, shielding Mira behind her like a wall. Varie’s look shifted to genuine headache.

Forget it—anything else is just smoke on the wind. Just take it as me coming to you with an empty bowl; can you accept that?