She sat up, blinking slowly, as if surfacing from a half-drowned dream. The room was still dim, but the glowstones had shifted their hue, a soft imitation of dawn in Serath'Kai's strange underground way. No true sun, just the programmed easing of light that told the city to pretend it was morning. A folded note had been left on the low table beside the divan. So had a swimsuit. Tight. Black. Trimmed in crimson lace that looked hand-stitched by someone who knew exactly where eyes lingered. It barely qualified as clothing, a halter held together with thin bands across the back, matching bottoms riding dangerously low on her hips. The fabric shimmered faintly, catching light like liquid ink. Pinned to it was a scrap of velum. From Boo, with love. Thought this might help you "shop smart." Try not to get arrested. Or do. I'm not your mom. Nyxia groaned, dragging both hands down her face. "Of course."
She slid from the bed and crossed to the basin, splashing her face with water that smelled faintly of crushed mint. Cool drops ran along her cheeks and jaw, clearing the last fog of sleep. Loque stirred from his coil at the foot of the divan, letting out a soft chuff before settling again. Nearby, her armor lay in a quiet heap, cracked leather, warped buckles, stains of old blood that would never truly fade. More relic than protection now. She stared at it for a long moment, the way someone might look at an old lover's grave, then turned away.
With a resigned sigh, she slipped into the swimsuit. It clung like a second skin, revealing, hugging, unapologetically sensual, tracing every line of muscle and curve as if it had been tailored in secret for her alone. The thin robe went over it, but barely, refusing to stay on one shoulder no matter how she tied it, every movement turning into a quiet invitation. By the time Perseus returned with two mugs of spiced tea, his mouth actually fell open. He stopped in the doorway, frozen, color rushing to his ears. "You're… not wearing armor." "I noticed." "Is that from—?" "She left a note. With a heart and a kiss mark." He coughed, eyes darting away and back again despite himself. "You're not seriously going out like that?" "We need armor. I need armor. I can't wear this forever." She stepped past him, silk brushing his arm, her warmth and scent lingering, wildflower smoke and clean skin and something uniquely her. "Unless you plan on loaning me yours." "Nyxia, you can't—" "I can. I am."
She tugged on her boots, left the rest of her gear behind, and tossed the note onto his lap. "Don't pout. It's just skin." Perseus looked like he might combust.
They stepped into the hazy light of Serath'Kai's mid-tier market, neon glare slicing through the illusion of dawn. Heads turned. A goblin dropped his wrench, muttering, "By the Titans…" A trio of elven mercenaries walked straight into a light post. One human tripped over his own feet and crashed into a fruit stand. Nyxia walked as if she hadn't noticed, or maybe she had and simply didn't care. Every step was confidence made flesh. A troll whistled low. "Where you goin', pretty fang?" "Shopping," she said without looking. "Need a bodyguard?" a dwarven engineer offered, nudging his goggles up. "Or a dinner date?" Perseus followed half a step behind her, expression coiled tight. "You're enjoying this." "A little," she admitted, a small, wicked smirk touching her lips.
The upper markets were chaos even at this hour. Lamps flickered like mock sunrise across wet stone. Fan-driven breezes sent scraps of paper and advert drones tumbling through the air. One vendor trailed after her with a tray of glittering trinkets, muttering that she'd make a fortune modeling. More than one merchant paused mid-pitch to stare at her legs as she passed. Their first stop was a stall run by a four-eyed goblin in a patchwork coat. "Shadowweaver's Mantle," he puffed proudly. "Salvaged spell-thread. Voidglass plating. Only twelve hundred crowns." "Pass." Next was ZENNA'S GEAR FOR THE ELITE, the draenei shopkeeper circling her like prey. "Too slight for plate, but I've got dusk-thread weave. Flexible. Durable. Breathtaking." "I bet," Nyxia said. "We're not outfitting royalty," Perseus added dryly, and they moved on.
Back in the slums, heat clung to the stone. Neon vines buzzed, some flickering, some dead. Nyxia was hot, frustrated, still underdressed. A drunk orc staggered past. "You look like a goddess, darlin'. You married?" "She is," Perseus growled. "To violence," Nyxia added. A flickering billboard read: VESTMENTS FOR VIGILANTS – PAY IN BLOOD OR GOLD. "Next time," she muttered, "I'm raiding a corpse." They rounded a corner near Boo's den when a tinny voice rang through the alley. "Come one, come all! Test your skill, test your fate. Win a brand new set of armor!" Perseus stopped. "Oh no."
A crowd had gathered around a makeshift stage, a goblin in a rag-stitched tailcoat holding a megaphone attached to a buzzing drone. "Got reflexes? Got guts? Step up, pay no fee, win something shiny!" Behind him, a tarp-covered rack shimmered under arc-lamps. Nyxia and Perseus exchanged a look. "No." " No" he echoed. They walked toward it anyway. The goblin's eyes lit up. "A challenger! And a fierce one too. Look how she walks, folks. Like she just murdered a duke and got away with it!" "I might have," Nyxia said, and the crowd laughed. "Name's Skivv. Step up, win the game, claim the prize." Perseus frowned. "What's the catch?" Skivv's grin widened. "No catch. Just skill. Reflexes. And the willingness to get a little wet." Levers whirred. The tarp slid back. Armor gleamed. One set stood out. Black leather bodysuit. Shadowplates. Gleaming thigh armor. Dusksteel shine. On the chest, a glyph blooming with void and starfire. Nyxia's breath hitched. "That's mine." Skivv smirked. "Then step up, sweetheart. And earn it."