Killyaen stood in the training field out back, his wooden practice sword flashing under Goran's watchful gaze. His recent exploits—splitting Goran's sword, turning the merchant's Dox into a "Demonic Unicorn," and cementing Janko's "Cursed Cat" infamy—kept the village alive, but a quiet rift lingered in the tavern's kitchen, where Bera's kiss hung unresolved.
Killy's training had become extraordinary, his strength surging despite the curse—chosen years ago under Shaman N'Nazmuz's eerie chants. Its pressure grew with his progress, a relentless weight grinding his bones as he grew stronger.
Goran, the seven-time Arena of Immortals champion, noticed peculiarities. When Killy sprinted, his boots sank into the earth, leaving dents as if a 300-kilogram beast, not a 70-kilogram elf, had charged. A leap to dodge Goran's swing landed with a thud, cracking the soil like a dropped anvil.
Goran paused, prodding a dent with his boot."You're no elf, you're a bloody iklos!" he grunted. "Curse is scaling, lad. You'll be kicking holes in mountains soon." Killy, sweat-drenched, grinned. "Mountains? I'm aiming for stars, old man."
Goran had been mulling over Killy's fighting style for weeks. The curse's weight slowed Killy's reactions slightly, a flaw one heavy sword couldn't mask. Two lighter swords, wielded in tandem, would let him flow faster, compensating with agility.
Goran sought out Marko, Opeka's wiry blacksmith, at his forge. "Make the lad two short swords," Goran said, tossing a pouch of coins. "Balanced, light, for dual-wielding. A gift for his progress."
Marko, his soot-streaked face splitting into a grin, pushed the pouch back. "For Killy? No charge. His 'Demonic Unicorns' and 'Cursed Cats' keep Opeka laughing. It's payment enough." Goran grumbled but nodded, respecting the gesture.
Marko worked fast, and by midday, he strode into the tavern, a leather-wrapped bundle under his arm. He set it before Killy, who was scrubbing tables. "From Goran, via my forge," Marko said, revealing two swords—short, curved blades, steel etched with faint swirls, light as feathers yet deadly sharp. "Dual-wield these, Supreme Elf. Make Janko's barn glow brighter." Killy's grin flared, lifting a sword to test its balance, the blade whistling.
"Marko, Goran, you're legends!" he said, clapping Marko's shoulder. "These'll carve chaos." Marko chuckled. "Don't slice my forge."
The drill that afternoon tested the new swords. Goran pushed Killy to chain Wind's Rebuke and Thunder's Edge into a dual-wield combo. "Rebuke to anchor, Edge to strike," he barked, his own blade humming through a pivot-and-slash.
Killy, wielding both swords, felt the curse's weight but moved smoother, the lighter blades dancing. His first attempts wobbled, one sword nearly clipping his thigh. "Focus, or you'll carve your ego," Goran said, parrying a stray slash.
By dusk, Killy's combo clicked, the swords singing as he spun Rebuke into Edge's upward cut, splintering a practice dummy. Goran nodded, pride glinting. "Not awful. Keep at it."
Killy trudged to the tavern, the swords' weight a comfort, but his thoughts snagged on Bera. Since their kiss—her lips crashing into his after the skirt prank's fallout—they'd become strangers.
The kitchen, once alive with jabs and swats, was a silent void. Bera barely met his eyes, her hands buried in dough, her quips gone. Killy, his teasing dried up, felt her tearful face and fierce kiss knotting his gut.
He served ale, dodging her path, a rare unease settling in.
The tavern buzzed with patrons, their chatter weaving tales of the "Demon Dox" and Mirna's spiritual stone rants—now blaming Killy for "beast curses." Janko, skulking in a corner, stayed silent, his fear of Killy's pranks a leash.
Killy's glances strayed to the kitchen, where Bera worked alone, her movements sharp, her face guarded. No swats, no "Supreme Elf, you pest." Just quiet.As the night waned and the tavern emptied, Killy lingered, polishing a tankard long after it shone. The kiss gnawed—Bera's lips, her raised fist, the patrons' "elf babies" chant. He wasn't sure what he felt. She was striking, her curves vivid, but beyond that? No deeper pull. Did she feel more? He didn't know, but the silence was unbearable, their banter a ghost he needed back. Swallowing hard, he set the tankard down and slipped into the kitchen.Bera was scrubbing pots, her apron flour-dusted, her dark curls loose.
She stiffened as Killy approached, her hands pausing. "Bera," he started, voice low, no swagger. "About the kiss… we need to talk." She glanced up, eyes wary, but nodded. He leaned against the counter.
"I don't know what that was. You're… hell, you're gorgeous, but I don't feel more. Not like that. Do you?
I want us back—jabbing, laughing, you swatting me."
Bera sighed, relaxing. "You're an idiot," she said, soft but sharp. "I don't know either. You're a pain, but… not love. Just…just....lust i guess."
She blushed, scrubbing harder. "I miss yelling at you." Killy grinned, relief loosening his chest. "So, we're good? Back to you calling me a pest?" Bera snorted, flicking water at him. "Don't push it, Supreme Elf."
The talk stretched, the tavern empty, their voices weaving through their feelings—attraction, yes, no deeper tie.
Laughter returned, tentative, then free, their rhythm flickering.Goran, trudging down from his room, paused at the kitchen door, his beard twitching with a smirk. "Lock up when you're done with your love talk," he said, winking before heading to bed.
Killy and Bera exchanged a glance, her blush deepening, his grin widening.The conversation turned electric, words trailing as eyes lingered. Bera stepped closer, her hand brushing his arm, and Killy's pulse surged. What followed was a blur of heat, a tangle of limbs in the dim kitchen, flour dusting their clothes, the counter creaking.
It was raw, urgent, a release of tension, etched in gasps and laughter. When it ended, they lay breathless, Bera's head on his chest, the tavern silent save for their breathing."That," Killy panted, "was worth every swat." Bera laughed, shoving him. "Don't expect it again, pest."
They dressed, grinning, the night sealing a memory neither would forget. They locked the tavern, Bera's spoon swat landing on Killy's shoulder as they parted, their old fire reignited.