"Master Ron!"

Lilitha squinted her eyes, shouting loudly. Then she cracked them open just a slit, peeking at Rogue’s expression.

Her voice boomed with perfect spirit, stirring her inner fire—excellent.

But Rogue still covered his face.

She’d mispronounced again. Just like his clumsy Draconic, Lilitha’s Human speech carried a thick lisp, muffled and unclear.

Lilitha watched Rogue, her gaze timid. From his face, she knew—this try was wrong too.

Punishment was punishment. Rogue wouldn’t soften for her looks. Proper discipline sped up her progress.

He ate the jam-slathered bread right before her. Then again. And again. By the end of feeding, Lilitha hadn’t nailed the phrase once.

Sorry then. Today’s meals ended here.

Hunger would sharpen her morning anticipation for him.

Rogue stood, tidying up. He strolled slowly to the door, sensing Lilitha lean forward behind him—like she wanted to hold him back.

He paused at the threshold, staring at the scarlet sky.

Lightning flashed. Rogue counted three heartbeats silently, then slammed the door shut.

Thunder cracked instantly. Light vanished from the warehouse. Rain and wind roared back to life.

Lilitha had reached out, fingers grasping for Rogue’s shadow. The thunderclap made her shriek. Her hand snapped to her chest. Trembling, she lifted her eyes to the door, lips parting—then her gaze dimmed.

She curled tight, snatching Rogue’s leftover blanket. Slowly, she shuffled to the corner.

Each thunderclap jolted her body. Here, one blanket couldn’t give the warmth she craved.

She wouldn’t sleep well tonight.

Rogue watched her, thinking this.

She might not sleep well all week. Perfect. Pressure helped her training now.

Once Lilitha grew obedient and his Draconic improved, he’d take her beyond this warehouse. Expand her world.

Next morning, rain still fell. Thunder rumbled unchanged. The eternal scarlet sky blurred night and day.

No magic hid the storm. Wind and rain hammered the door like Death’s knuckles. Inside, Rogue saw Lilitha clutching the blanket. Her small frame hid beneath it—except her fat dragon tail, spilling out.

Her spirit drooped. Bloodshot eyes showed plainly.

Lilitha hadn’t slept all night.

Or rather, she’d dozed fitfully. Rogue saw her eyelids flutter shut—then thunder jolted her awake.

Rogue stayed calm. He waited, then pushed the door open.

Instantly, wind and rain died. Thunder hushed, as if fearing him. Light and warmth flooded the warehouse.

To Lilitha now, Rogue was a savior.

A god.

He saw her hopeful, relaxed little stare. Smiling faintly, he showed off new words: "Lilitha, good morning."

Lilitha leaned forward. Her mouth opened, closed—words stuck. The blanket slid down her shoulder, baring pale skin to Rogue.

Spotting him approach, she gripped the blanket tighter. Reluctant to let go.

Rogue took the edge. He tugged gently—not snatching. Their eyes locked.

Lilitha hesitated. Slowly, her fingers loosened. Then rough fingers ruffled her hair, scratched her chin. "Good girl," he murmured.

Rogue felt her shiver. Her skin was cool. Nights grew colder; wind seeped through holes. Without him, the warehouse held no warmth.

Baths needed hot water. Colds would complicate things.

He filled a wooden tub, set aside plain bread.

Lilitha glanced at the bread, puzzled. Where was last night’s tiny jam jar?

She blinked back to focus. Rogue already led her small hand toward the tub. He stopped, nodding for her to step in.

Warm water steamed invitingly. Lilitha looked at Rogue, then the tub. Under his encouraging gaze, she stepped forward.

Climbing in was easy—except her bulky tail. She slipped inside, but it draped over the rim. She twisted back, hugging it in. Adorably clumsy.

Her wounds had healed, but weakness lingered. Controlling her tail was hard. Future baths might need tonic herbs.

Rogue sat on a stool, washing her. The towel glided over every inch. Warmth drew a soft moan from Lilitha.

Half a month of training finally paid off. Rogue’s mood lifted.

After bathing came feeding and lessons. Plain bread this morning. Lilitha ate slowly, appetite low.

Punishments continued. Her cautious movements showed it: she depended on Rogue but avoided mistakes fiercely.

Noon brought the same restlessness. The warehouse’s grip deepened. Minutes after Rogue left, Lilitha grew anxious.

"What fine thunder today," he mused.

Evening came. Rogue opened the door. Lilitha shot up like a reflex, stepping forward.

Light. Hot water. Bread. Jam. Warmth. Rogue meant goodness. This instinct was her first step toward dependence.

"Lilitha, good evening." Rogue pursed his lips, forcing a smile.

He wasn’t good at smiles. Stubble twisted his face ungracefully. But lately, this expression calmed Lilitha.

It meant no rough treatment today.

Lilitha staggered closer. At his feet, her mouth worked silently. No sound came.

Rogue crouched, scratching her chin. He set down bread and jam—the tiny jar catching her eyes.

Plain bread for breakfast and lunch. Only evenings brought sweet jam. Rogue’s plan: build her anticipation.

He’d teach her to cherish what wasn’t easily won.