The Tavern for Pervert Adventurers (18+)
Chapter 29: Fire and Ice - 9

Chapter 29: Fire and Ice - 9

Mid-morning sunlight spilled through the tavern’s windows, casting golden stripes across the worn floorboards.

Mira lounged barefoot on the stair rail, half-dressed in a loose wrap that draped over her hips, leaving her torso bare, her bronze skin glowing in the warmth.

Her full breasts rose gently with each breath, the fresh fire pattern—a crescent arc etched beneath her left breast—faintly visible, its lines a quiet reminder of her controlled fireblood.

Her red hair hung wild, framing her sharp jaw, her amber eyes soft as she sipped cooled tea, her body humming with a calm she hadn’t known before Kio’s touch.

The tavern was quiet, its hearth smoldering low, the air rich with woodsmoke, fresh bread, and the faint tang of polished oak.

Mira didn’t expect company, her mind adrift in the peace of her new rhythm.

So when the door creaked open, admitting a dust-streaked Lira, her cloak heavy with travel, her silver hair braided tight, Mira blinked, her cup pausing at her lips.

Lira’s emerald eyes, guarded but steady, met hers as she dropped her bag on a table, the thud soft in the stillness.

"You’re still here," Lira said, her voice low, a faint smirk tugging her lips.

"You’re back early," Mira replied, her smile small, warm, not the teasing grin of weeks past but something softer, earned.

Lira shrugged, her leathers creaking faintly. "Didn’t take long."

Their eyes held—not a challenge, not a rivalry, but a recognition, a quiet shift between them.

Mira didn’t mock, and Lira didn’t smirk, their shared time in the tavern’s embrace softening old edges.

Lira’s gaze dipped, catching the fire pattern peeking from beneath Mira’s wrap, its lines stark against her bronze skin.

Mira didn’t cover it.

She let Lira see, her posture open, unashamed. Lira’s eyes widened, not with jealousy but with a flicker of awe, her breath catching faintly.

"You asked for it," Lira murmured, her voice soft, almost reverent.

Mira nodded, her amber eyes steady.

"I burned too long," she said, her voice low, raw with truth. "He made it stop."

The words hung between them, a shared understanding, the tavern’s warmth wrapping them in a fragile, intimate moment.

Lira didn’t press, her gaze lingering on the pattern before returning to Mira’s face, a quiet respect in her eyes.

That night, Mira skipped the bathhouse, sitting instead by the hearth, its embers casting a soft glow across the common room.

Lira rested upstairs, her presence a quiet hum above.

Kio emerged from the storeroom, his hands steady, carrying a small bundle wrapped in black velvet.

He knelt before Mira, his dark eyes meeting hers, and unwrapped it—a dagger, no longer than a palm, its steel blade etched with intricate, non-magical patterns, cool to the touch, crafted for ceremony, not combat.

"For ritual only," Kio said, his voice low, steady, handing it to her. "Not for blood."

Mira unwrapped it slowly, her fingers brushing the velvet, revealing the blade’s gleaming surface, its patterns mirroring the fire pattern on her skin—a guide for focus, not power.

"Temper fire with calm," Kio murmured, his tone heavy with meaning.

Mira touched the hilt with reverence, her fireblood stirring faintly, warm but contained.

"You trust me with this?" she asked, her voice soft, her amber eyes searching his.

Kio met her gaze, his expression warm, unyielding.

"You’ve earned cold steel," he said, a quiet promise in his words.

Later, Mira cleaned the blade three times.

Not because it was dirty.

But because it was hers.

And for once, she wasn’t afraid of what she held.