Before Kael Virell completely lost consciousness, something warm—strangely sweet, almost sorrowful—brushed softly against his lips. It wasn't a kiss, not exactly. It was lighter than that, more like a farewell... or a stolen prayer.
For one fragile heartbeat, the world stood still.
No breath.
No pain.
Just the haunting sensation of something important slipping away.
Then it hit him—a force like a wild beast breaking free from its chains. It surged into his mouth, feral and unrelenting.
Kael didn't even flinch.
He couldn't.
His body was a crumbling ruin.
Heavy. Numb. Abandoned by strength.
Even his thoughts staggered, tethered only loosely to reality.
A bitter, strangely metallic liquid coursed down his throat. It was sharp, pungent—like licking copper soaked in fire and grief. His stomach revolted. Muscles twitched in a feeble attempt to retch, but a hand—strong, calloused, inhumanly warm—cupped his jaw and tilted his head back.
The pressure on his chin wasn't a request. It was a command.
His throat convulsed.
He swallowed.
Darkness closed in.
The world dimmed.
And just before the void wrapped around him like a grave's embrace, one last thought echoed in the cavern of his fading consciousness:
"Damn my life…"
Soaked in irony, kissed with regret.
Then nothing.
---
Hours Later
The stillness shattered under a voice like thunder grinding against stone.
"Are you sure the female is fine? If you're lying—if you're toying with me—I'll raze your entire tribe to the ground."
The threat vibrated through the floor, carried by a voice rough and wild, each word a warning.
A sigh followed, ancient and unimpressed.
"Calm yourself, Valkar," came the sorcerer's Bal gravelly reply. His voice was rasped by age and stubborn wisdom. "He's stable. Do you think I'd waste my medicine on a corpse? The female's healing—slowly, thanks to your idiocy."
"Then why hasn't he woken up yet?!" Valkar's growl was barely human—closer to a cornered beast. His claws twitched, the dark scales on his forearms glinting like forged obsidian. His golden irises, slitted like a serpent's, burned with restrained panic.
"Because," the healer Bal snapped, "you pumped venom into his veins, you brainless brute. Your Talons. Do you even know your own anatomy anymore?"
Valkar stiffened. His tail coiled behind him in agitation.
"It was a light scratch!" he snapped, indignation replacing guilt. "Even insects survive it. How was I to know—"
"You've never been near a female before, have you?" the sorcerer interjected, his voice sharpened by scorn. "You think their spirit strength makes them invincible? Their bodies are not scaled like yours. They break. You nearly shattered this one."
Silence.
Valkar's mouth opened—but no words emerged.
The great serpent warrior, breaker of ten armies, was speechless.
---
At first, Kael heard only a dull murmur, as though the world had been dipped in velvet and submerged underwater. Sound reached him distorted, distant—like memories whispered through glass.
But gradually, it sharpened. Words pierced the haze.
Two voices.
One raw with rage. The other dryly with disdain.
They were arguing. Loudly.
Kael groaned internally.
Couldn't they shut up?
He was trying to die in peace here—or at least sleep without a war council screaming in his ears.
And then—
"The female this."
"The female that."
Wait. What?
Kael's eyes flew open.
Female?!
He sat up too fast and promptly choked on his own spit.
A violent coughing fit overtook him.
Clutching at his chest, Kael doubled over. His lungs burned, and his vision was spotted with stars.
"He's awake!"
Valkar was at his side in a heartbeat, large hands surprisingly gentle as he steadied Kael's shoulders.
"Bring water! Now!" he barked, his voice both a command and a plea.
The old healer Bal moved with impressive speed despite his limp. From a gnarled wooden shelf, he produced a cup carved with winding runes—symbols that shimmered faintly, pulsing with magic. The water inside smelled faintly of wildflowers and frost.
Kael gripped it with trembling hands and drank. The coolness soothed the burning in his throat.
Finally, silence. Blessed silence.
But it didn't last.
Because now, they were staring at him.
Kael glanced up—and regretted it instantly.
Valkar's eyes were fixed on him like a hawk who'd found its prey.
The healer, too, looked stunned—though his awe seemed more clinical than captivated.
Kael flushed.
His skin, pale from blood loss, now bloomed with color. His lips were reddened from the earlier force-feeding. Moisture clung to his brow, highlighting the elegant line of his jaw and the soft curve of his lashes.
He looked... delicate.
Breathtaking, even.
The air shifted.
Valkar had never seen a female more stunning than this.
And lucky for him—he was his now. He wouldn't let anyone else touch his female, let alone take him away.
Valkar took a step forward, blocking the healer's view with the mass of his body. His voice dropped to a chilling growl.
"Where do you think you're looking, you old goat? Want me to rip out those ancient eyes of yours?"
The sorcerer snorted but wisely retreated a few paces.
Kael blinked.
His mind had just rebooted, and already it was overheating.
What the hell was going on here?!
Before he could gather his wits, the healer approached again, this time cautiously. He gently took Kael's wrist, fingers light but precise, feeling for something unseen.
"Any pain?" he asked softly, watching Kael's face closely.
Kael hesitated.
The touch wasn't unpleasant. It reminded him of stories from ancient cultures, where healers read the body like a sacred text.
"No," he murmured. "I feel... surprisingly fine. Thank you."
He smiled—just a small, tired smile of politeness.
That turned out to be a grave mistake.
Valkar's head jerked toward him.
"Why are you smiling at him?"
Kael's brows furrowed. "What?"
Valkar leaned in, his breath heated and scented faintly of smoke and cedar.
"I saved your life. Twice."
His voice was low, dangerous.
"Once from the Scalepaw beast. And again when I gave you my essence blood to fight the venom. Me. Not that shriveled corpse with his herbs. Me. And now you're smiling at him?"
Kael stared.
Thin wisps of steam coiled from Valkar's nostrils. His pupils were narrow slits. His posture was tense, wound tight like a predator on the edge of striking.
Kael opened his mouth. Closed it.
Tried again.
"...Thank you?"
There was a pause.
Valkar did not look impressed.
The healer, behind him, chuckled under his breath.
Kael rubbed his temple and lay back down slowly, defeated.
He pulled the thin, scratchy sheet up to his chin like a barrier against madness and mumbled into the fabric:
"Great. I got isekai'd into a world of snake himbos and magical sexism. Kill me now."