"Hey, Fil-san… could you possibly be the old man they were talking about?" Solvane whispered, his voice caught somewhere between suspicion and dread. His eyes narrowed on the elder beside him—the very same elder who was, without shame, drooling as he stared down at the women below.
Filin didn't even flinch. He swiped his sleeve across his mouth, too slow to pretend it hadn't happened.
"What? Of course not!" Filin barked back, far too defensive for Solvane's liking. "Why would you even think that? Me? The same man those brutes threatened to dismember? Pah! I'm merely a victim of your perverted ways."
Solvane blinked, utterly bewildered. "Me? You dragged me up here!"
"No, no, no," Filin shot back with a wag of his finger, eyes glinting beneath his hood. "I found you here, wallowing in temptation. I, being a benevolent soul, sought only to rescue you. To save your innocence. To deliver you from corruption." His voice grew strangely dramatic, echoing with something almost otherworldly. He lifted a hand and gestured reverently toward the bathhouse below. "And from her."
Solvane, despite himself, followed the line of Filin's trembling finger.
And then he saw her.
The tall, muscular woman from earlier. Her presence was commanding even here, surrounded by steam and water. She waded through the bath with unhurried grace, long, silky black hair clinging to her glistening shoulders. Her form was carved with strength, her physique betraying years of relentless training. The waterline lapped just beneath her chest—but the thinness of the bath's current did little to obscure her figure.
Solvane felt his throat tighten.
"Ohhh…" he muttered under his breath, trying to suppress the rising heat in his face. "Does old man Fil have a thing for big strong women?"
Filin went rigid, then hissed like a struck serpent. "Shut up!" His voice cracked as though Solvane had struck a nerve. "Shut up and take in the sight—no, don't take it in. In fact, look away! I can't allow your unworthy eyes to defile my Roxanne."
"Your… Roxanne?" Solvane echoed, blinking rapidly.
"Yes," Filin sighed, voice dripping with reverence and longing. "My Roxanne… the thunderstorm that breaks the night, the tempest in mortal flesh, the one destined to crush weak men beneath her heel. Do you see the way the steam bows before her? The way her sword hand never truly relaxes? Oh, boy, you wouldn't understand…"
Solvane stared at him, half-amused, half-disturbed. "…You're creeping me out, old man."
Filin turned sharply, eyes blazing. "So now I can't like someone I—"
But Solvane had already tuned him out.
Because while Filin's obsession swelled into near-poetic madness, Solvane's gaze had shifted elsewhere. Across the bath, tucked quietly among the others, was the yellow Asper girl he'd glimpsed before.
She was smaller, younger, her features less hardened by experience than the veterans surrounding her. Yet there was something about her that caught him like a hook through the chest. Her movements were quiet, almost hesitant, as if she still carried the awkwardness of youth—but her eyes… her eyes were steady, sharp, and full of unspoken fire.
Solvane couldn't look away.
Why does my chest feel so tight? he wondered, heart hammering. Why her? Why not anyone else?
Then—
Something brushed against his chest.
It was faint. A nudge, a touch. Something soft, yet real.
Without thinking, Solvane jerked back, panic exploding through him.
And his heel slipped on the slanted roof tile.
"No—!"
The world tilted. The night sky spun. The roof gave way beneath him.
For a frozen instant, he locked eyes with Filin.
And the old man was smirking.
Smirking—waving him goodbye like a child tossing away a toy.
Then the air rushed from Solvane's lungs.
THUD.
He crashed through the roof, smashing into the steam-filled sanctuary of the women's bathhouse. Tiles shattered. Wood splintered. The echo of his fall reverberated off the walls.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Every eye turned. Every breath stopped.
For a single heartbeat, Solvane wished—hoped—that maybe, just maybe, no one would react. That perhaps they would all blink, decide it was an accident, and mercifully let him crawl away.
But then the silence shattered.
Chaos erupted.
Shrieks filled the air, steel hissed from scabbards, and water churned violently as guards scrambled from the pools. Blades gleamed in the mist, their edges glistening with the condensation of steam.
Solvane scrambled to his feet, his face burning hotter than the bathwater around him. He brushed himself off frantically, as if wiping away dust could erase the fact he had just come crashing into a sacred place.
"It was an accident! I swear it was an accident!" he shouted, his voice breaking in desperation.
No one listened.
The ring of steel drew closer, encircling him. Dozens of swords hovered at his throat, so close he could feel the sting of their cold edges against his skin.
"Wait. Bring him closer."
The words cut through the din like a blade slicing silk.
Every guard froze. Slowly, they obeyed, shoving Solvane forward with weapons still pressed tight to his neck.
His eyes lifted.
And there she was.
Roxanne.
She stepped from the bath with predatory grace, every movement slow, deliberate, dripping with authority. Dressed in a soaked white tunic, the fabric clung mercilessly to her frame. Her chest region was still observable, the top itself wet, her accentuating curves fully seen and shown. Every drop of water rolling down her body seemed to gleam like molten silver in the lantern light.
The air grew heavy. Even the steam seemed to part for her, curling away like it feared her presence.
Her hand tightened on her sword as she advanced, each step a declaration of dominance. An evil grin crept slowly across her face, curving her lips into a shape both beautiful and terrifying.
Solvane's throat tightened. His pulse thundered in his ears. He couldn't decide if he should look away—or if looking away would be an even greater insult.
She stopped only inches from him, the tip of her blade lowering until the cold steel kissed the skin of his throat.
Her eyes locked onto his. They were deep, sharp, endless.
"Hey, kid," she murmured, her voice low, dripping with menace and something else Solvane couldn't name.
"How prepared are you to die?"