Steam bloomed in the bath. A languid white mist blurred everything, as if the room wore a warm, damp veil.

In a desert, sights like this usually visit only in dreams.

The dream of hot water soaking across shoulder blades carried a traveler’s longing for home and for the civilized world. In this barren, life-killing wasteland, it offered a slim lifeline against the blues. To be wrapped in vapor here was happiness, no doubt. Even a glutton who never knows enough would close greedy eyes and savor the warm, quiet now.

Sadly, the two in the bath felt none of it.

One of them did feel lucky, but for blunt, physical reasons rather than any lofty calm.

The mist hid sight—if only a little.

She herself was bare as the day she was born, pinned in the tight bath by a white‑haired woman.

“Sis…!”

Hip‑deep water smacked the basin, a restless, anxious splash, like the turmoil rolling in a pair of scarlet eyes.

Beyond the arms she had folded over her chest, only the milky fog stood between her and her sister—if one could call it a barrier. The half‑transparent steam didn’t truly hide anything; it just laid a blush of soft pink across her skin. She told herself it counted, and made one last, flimsy stand—

“—No… don’t lick there… it’s dirty!”

As for why Adelaide had Mira pinned, and why Mira cried that, the thread starts a dozen minutes earlier.

“Is the wound looking inflamed, Mira?”

“Mm… there’s a little bleeding, but it’s fine.”

“Bleeding?”

It was a normal answer, yet Adelaide stalled on the word “blood.” A beat later she recovered, late with a muted, “Good.”

She sat on the other side of the bath, sharing the room with Mira.

The space defied every rough stereotype of beastfolk. Moisture glyphs for heating spread along the walls. Cloud‑like lines curled around the vanity and the chandelier. The ugly complexity hid under white tiles; lacquered woodcarvings and wetland plants softened it all. Practical, and meticulous, with a touch of Eastern fantasy.

Honestly, this bath suited neither beastfolk nor desert. It felt like a set from a dream—antique lovers flirting behind a thin veil. Especially that gauzy curtain splitting the washing area.

Adelaide’s gaze slid left and caught the graceful silhouette cast upon the veil.

Light shone out from within, the curtain hardly blocked a thing. With a setup like this… was that lion woman the wanton sort?

Heat pooled low in her belly. She pressed her lips, tore her eyes away, and tried to distract herself by picturing Varie’s likely unrestrained private life.

She’d undone her own hypnotic suggestion. As the older sister, she could at least rein in that inexplicable hunger rising in her gut.

Especially now. Her little sister needed care.

A week had passed since Firefly’s ambush, and Mira was still weak. Even with Adelaide’s blood aiding the healing, the wound on her arm covered too much. Changing clothes alone was hard.

It felt like when they fled Balad—only reversed. Mira seemed guilty about troubling Adelaide. Adelaide didn’t allow refusal and took over her daily care.

Letting a lady with a bad heart, who’d barely set foot in a kitchen, play caretaker sounded wrong. Truth was, Adelaide threw herself into it.

She wasn’t a perfect maid, but she blew porridge cool. During fevers, she changed the cool cloth on Mira’s brow almost three times an hour. She did bedtime stories and lullabies. She tried to be complete, even now.

Yes, sharing this bath wasn’t to watch her sister’s shadow on the veil—Adelaide shut her eyes and repeated that to herself.

Most days, she enjoyed caring for Mira. Who wouldn’t like holding a sick, golden‑retriever of a girl, rubbing her head while her ears drooped?

But love is love. Bath time was the exception.

Waiting for Mira to rinse, then toweling her hair and dressing her was always torture.

The damp haze steamed her dizzy. Mira’s scent pooled heavier here. The lighting leaned suggestive…

Every side glance at the shadow made Adelaide’s heart skip. It felt like the cuddly retriever in her arms went puff—became a fragrant, naked—

No. They were both girls. Anything she had, Mira had too. Why imagine?

She chased the image off, took a deep breath. The sweet iron in the humid air only made her more restless.

To cool the heat and cut the awkward quiet, Adelaide started talking.

“Come to think of it, I never told you why I agreed to the lioness.”

She toyed with a towel. A moment later, a soft “Mm” came from behind the veil.

“It’s for the Savia Rose.”

“…I understand.” Only that. Nothing more.

“Huh? Not curious about my plan?”

The silhouette shook its head. “If it’s for that Elf relic that heals everything, just tell me when the time comes. I’ll back you.”

Clean and decisive, no doubt in her voice. Adelaide’s brow lifted.

“Yet, lately you’ve been acting like… you’re not exactly willing.”

The shadow froze for seconds. Adelaide pressed on.

“Do you… hate beastfolk?”

The question wasn’t baseless. Mira never said it, but Adelaide saw it every day. When Varie or other members of the Nacha Tribe called at the tent, Mira’s forearm muscles tightened on reflex, and wariness flickered deep in those blue eyes.

“Mira?”

Adelaide asked again. Silence. Irritation pricked.

She hummed lightly, leaned on the tiles, and closed her eyes.

“It’s fine. If you won’t talk, I’ll just hypnotize you before sleep.”

“…Uh?”

“You promised—no secrets. What’s wrong, planning to go back on it?”

The veil quivered. After a few seconds of struggle, Mira lowered her arms and sighed.

“I… don’t really like the Nacha Tribe.”

Adelaide brightened at the concession and asked, “Oh? Why?”

“…”

A brief silence. “Nuhaman.”

Nuhaman…?

Adelaide’s eyes widened. A far tribe, yet the name was familiar—famed for dyed cloth, infamous for vanishing like a legend.

A people erased in a single night.

In mere dozens of hours, thousands of Nuhaman were slaughtered by roaming beastfolk raiders. So ruthless, so efficient the Empire heard about it a thousand miles away.

Rumor said the day of slaughter was their once‑a‑decade festival. Everyone was called home. After that, the world never saw a single Nuhaman again.

Adelaide knew what Mira would say next.

“That’s where I was born.”

“Ah…”

Adelaide opened her mouth. Words failed. She froze.

Not just at learning a survivor existed, but that Mira told her.

She hadn’t expected the weight. Calling it blood‑deep hatred wasn’t exaggeration.

She heard Mira’s caution, the tremble that couldn’t hide the hurt.

“Mira…”

Realizing what she’d done, Adelaide felt guilt rise.

But the guilt wasn’t pure.

She felt guilty for prying open a soft, private wound. Worse, she realized her first feeling—seeing Mira obey even while hurt—wasn’t regret. It was a fierce, possessive satisfaction.

Yes. Even now, a voice thrilled inside her, like a girl tugging a teddy’s arm and laughing as the seams snapped—See? No matter how selfish, she’ll still oblige. She’s entirely yours. She can’t leave. She has no other choice—

Tangled feelings turned her mind to mush. Heat coiled low again. She knew she should apologize. Or at least stop before she hurt Mira more.

But while reason spoke, her tongue moved anyway.

“If that’s true, then why did you say ‘seron’—the Coexistent Arm—to the lioness that day?”