Who Is the Beast King?
Season 1 — The Dragoness of Nature
Chapter 12 — A Warmer Den, A Market of Beasts, Quiet Fires
The cave didn't look like a cave anymore.
Furs were stacked in a neat tower along the right wall—thick, clean, and soft to the touch. A smooth stone shelf jutted from the rock, already lined with bundled herbs tied in thin hide strips. Meat hung high near the entrance where winter air would dry it safely. The fire ring had been rebuilt with careful stones that held heat and kept the flames steady. The floor had been swept smooth.
Areum paused at the threshold, breath catching. "You… did all this?"
Raion turned from the hearth, broad shoulders easing as his green eyes met hers. "For you," he said, then after a beat, softer, "For us."
Warmth rose in her chest. She brushed her fingertips over the cool stone shelf and imagined it full of things she'd learn to make and store, a little order in a wild world. Her smile came unbidden. Raion watched it like a sunrise.
Raion (thought): That smile. Let me keep it safe. Let me build around it until nothing cold can reach her.
They moved through the space together, quietly. Areum sorted the herbs she'd gathered—naming which soothed fever, which calmed pain, which simply smelled pleasant and made her braver. Raion listened with unfeigned attention, head tipped slightly, as if each word mattered.
They ate simply. When she reached to ladle for him, his hand went first. "Sit," he said, easy and sure, and served her before himself. It sounded less like an order than a vow.
This could be a home, she thought. Not a hollow. A home.
---
The Council of Wolves
In the Shadowfang council hut, smoke curled past antlers and bone charms. Chief Harun's gaze cut to Kane, his silver hair bound at the nape, green eyes clear and cool.
"The new female," the Chief said. "Rare. Pursue her."
The Witch Doctor's voice flowed like smoke. "Begin with custom. Bring prey to her cave. If she accepts, the door to courtship opens. Then the offering."
Kane felt the flicker of an unwelcome warmth—the memory of a black-haired female by a fire, calm as dusk, eyes dazzling and strange among beastfolk. He shut the feeling down.
Kane (thought): Females tangle a warrior's feet. I don't need tangles.
He answered flatly, "I'll bring prey."
---
Prey at the Door
Morning frost glazed the forest. Areum stoked the fire, unaware of the figure approaching until the cave mouth shadowed.
Kane set a deer down in a clean, practiced motion; fresh heat rose off it into the cold. "For you," he said.
Areum blinked, startled but sincere. "For me? Thank you." She touched the flank politely, not knowing tradition's weight behind the gift. Kane's gaze softened by a fraction.
Kane (thought): She accepted. The door is open.
Raion returned from his traps moments later, reading the scene in one glance: the prey, the wolf, Areum's unguarded gratitude. His posture stayed relaxed; only his eyes sharpened.
Kane, as if it were a simple errand, added, "The monthly Beast Market opens at dawn tomorrow. Tribes gather to trade. I'll escort you."
Areum's face lit. "A market? I'd love to see it."
"Dawn," Kane said, giving a small nod. He left without looking back.
Silence held a moment. Areum glanced at Raion, uncertain. "Did I… do something wrong?"
"No," Raion said, steady. Then, gentler, "let's go in"
"Ok." She answered, then looked at the deer again. "It will feed us," she decided.
"It will," he agreed.
---
Green-Touched
Later, with a basket looped over her arm, Areum searched the winter wood for plants that might be useful. She knelt, breathing slow, reaching for the quiet center where warmth had stirred before.
It stirred again—like leaning nearer to a hearth and feeling heat before flame. Leaves trembled. A faint green shimmer brushed her skin. In the shadow of one plant she found white-veined leaves she somehow knew would calm a fever; under another, bitter greens good for cleansing wounds. She clipped carefully, naming them in her mind.
This is mine. My gift. I can make a life with this.
From the trees, Raion watched without intruding. He saw the faint light around her fingertips, the way plants seemed to lift toward her.
Raion (thought): Not lightning. Not claw. Something older. I won't push. I'll be the wall that keeps the wind off while it grows.
When she slipped on frost-slick moss, his hand was already there; she took it as if she'd done so for years.
---
Firelight and First Vows
The cave filled with the smell of roasting meat and herbs that evening. Firelight turned the walls honey-warm. Areum drew her knees close, eyes bright.
"What's the market like?" she asked. "What will I see?"
"Stalls of bent wood tied with leather," Raion said. "Meat. Hides. Bone tools. Spirit stones if a hunt was hard and lucky."
"And females?" Her voice dipped.
"Few. Males trade. Females stay where they're safe." He held her gaze. "You're safe with me."
She found no boast in him—only a truth worn like skin. "Then I'll stay close," she said softly.
His fingers brushed a stray strand of her hair back, lingering a breath too long. Under the fur, his hand found hers and wove their fingers together.
"Areum," he murmured, her name a vow.
She looked up. His kiss met hers—gentle, asking. She answered, warmth rising, a sweet ache in her chest.
Too close. Too sudden. But… I don't want to push him away. I want more.
Raion (thought): Soft. Steady. Mine.
They spoke until the fire settled to coal-glow—about which path iced last, which trees whisper when wind rides high, how he'd chosen the fire stones by the song they made when tapped together. She laughed softly; promised to listen next time. When they slept, her cheek found the hollow of his shoulder as if made for it.
---
Road to the Market
Dawn was pale and breathless. Areum stirred to a smooth, rolling motion, wrapped in Raion's fur cloak. He carried her in his panther form, muscles flowing beneath her as if she rode a warm river. She dozed and woke by turns to the sound of snow crunching and the quiet world unfolding.
A little behind, Kane moved silent as a shadow—silver hair loose over his shoulders, his eyes watchful on the path. When he caught a glimpse of Areum's sleeping face, something sharp and unfamiliar pulled in his chest. His gaze lingered a heartbeat too long.
Raion shifted, cloak lifting as he covered her, his body angling to shield. Their eyes met; Raion's was a calm, unblinking warning.
Raion (thought): Not for your eyes.
Kane's mouth thinned. He looked away and kept pace.
They reached the market in a wide clearing held between evergreen and pale cliff. Stalls of bent branches lashed with hide. Hides stretched on racks like banners. Fires smoking. Baskets of herbs, strings of dried fish, bone needles, and the rare gleam of spirit stones.
Raion bent so Areum could slide down. She stood close under his arm as she steadied. Then she pushed back her hood.
Sound thinned. Then murmurs cracked the quiet.
"Black hair—"
"Eyes like night—"
"A rare one—"
"Panther's mate? Or free—"
Raion's aura tightened like distant lightning; Kane's presence pressed outward, a clean, quiet threat. Males who had stepped closer stepped back. Areum felt the weight of stares heat her cheek; she slid closer to Raion without thinking.
"They're staring," she whispered.
"They've never seen anyone like you," he murmured. "Stay near."
"I was going to," she said, and her mouth quirked despite nerves. "Help me find a fair trader?"
His eyes warmed. "I will."
She traded small bundles of carefully gathered greens for salt, a bone needle, a roll of thread, a handful of dried berries that made her smile widen. Traders gave her a little extra—Raion noticed; his jaw set and then eased again.
Raion (thought): They pay high to earn her smile. Let them. They'll keep their distance.
Kane (thought): She doesn't see how easily she bends the market around her. Better that she learns with guards at both flanks.
They had nearly finished when sharp laughter lifted from the far side—a mean, thin sound. Areum's head snapped toward it; Raion matched her glance.
A huge bear beast—shoulders broad as a doorway, a scar running like lightning across his face—knelt to unload two massive carcasses. He offered them for salt. The stall keeper measured with a stingy hand; snide words followed under breath.
"That's too little," Areum said, moving before she remembered to be cautious. She stopped at the counter, voice steady. "For that much meat, the measure should be double—with a bundle of dried greens added."
The stall keeper looked up, and then up again—past Raion's quiet storm, past Kane's leveled gaze—and made his calculation quickly. He doubled the salt with bad grace and tossed in the greens.
The bear stared as if sun had broken a long cold. His brown-gold eyes flicked from the salt to Areum's face, something raw and grateful there.
They moved on. Areum exhaled, shaken by how right it had felt to say enough. Raion's hand brushed the small of her back; pride warmed his face.
"Wait," a deep voice rumbled behind them.
They turned. The scarred bear stood with a bundle of rich, fatty meat held out in both hands—not to Raion, not to Kane—to her.
"For you," he said, rough with shyness. "You spoke for me. No one does."
Areum hesitated. "I didn't do much." Her smile turned practical and kind. The Bear male insisted, she felt at loss and thiught if a solution "What if I cook it instead? Then everyone eats."
The bear's face shifted—astonishment, then a light that looked like hope. "Yes," he said at once, then coughed and tempered it. "I… would like that."
Rurik (thought): She didn't turn away. She looked at me like a man, not a tool. Warmth—what is this warmth.
Raion's jaw flexed, but he held his tongue. Kane's eyes narrowed, measuring how quickly the threads had begun to braid.
---
A Meal That Made a Hearth
Back at the cave, firelight painted the stone in honey and ember. Areum salted the meat and crushed a few leaves she'd kept back, rubbing them into the fat. The smell rose rich and bright; even the walls seemed to lean closer.
Rurik crouched near—huge, careful, hands like shovels parked on his knees—as if afraid a breath too hard might topple something delicate. He asked low questions, fascinated.
"You add the sharp-smelling ones," he said, inhaling dutifully. "It wakes the tongue."
"Exactly," Areum said, smiling. "Just a little. Too much and it bites."
His answering laugh was short, surprised—then embarrassed. He ducked his head. She only smiled wider.
Raion watched them—jealousy a hot line under the skin, pride a second hot line twined with it because it was her warmth making a den for others. He brushed her fingers when he took his portion, a quiet claim she did not rebuff.
Kane ate without comment, posture loose against the wall, green eyes more often on Areum's face than on the food. He said nothing—but something in him refused to look away.
They tasted the first bites—and stillness took them, that perfect stillness when a mouthful is better than a man knew food could be.
"This," Rurik said roughly, voice thick with sincerity, "is the best I've ever eaten."
Areum laughed softly. "It's simple. If you bring something to trade, I'll make more."
"I will," he said fiercely, then checked himself, an enormous warrior trying to make eagerness smaller and failing.
Time slid. No one rose to leave. At last Areum looked around, smiling a little. "It's late. If you want to stay—there's room."
Rurik nodded immediately and then slower, as if to smooth the edges. "Thank you." Kane grunted—a non-committal yes that still meant he was already making room along the wall.
Raion stood and offered his hand to Areum. "There's a stream," he said. "You'll sleep warmer."
She took his hand without thinking. "Let's go."
---
Moon-Bright, Water-Cold
The stream moved like black glass; the moon broke on it in shards. Areum washed; cold kissed her skin; breath fogged lightly. Raion joined without ceremony—no words, no show—stepping into the water beside her. Their shoulders brushed. He wrung water gently from her hair with careful fingers.
Areum (thought): Too close. Too much. But I'm not afraid. I feel… safe.
Raion (thought): Moonlight chose her. Even the river forgets to run. Hold steady, beast. Do not frighten what you mean to keep.
He didn't press for more; he only smoothed her hair once more and hugged her bare body, and decided to walke back with her, hands finding and refinding each other in the dark as if they had a right to.
---
Quiet Fires, Loud Hearts
Inside, Rurik and Kane lay as if asleep—breaths even, bodies still—but beast senses do not sleep easily in a new den.
Raion drew Areum under the fur, pulled her close until her shivers turned to warmth. His thumb traced her cheekbone, reverent and a little possessive. He kissed her—slow, tender, hungry, then gentler again. She answered, breath catching, a quiet sound escaping that made his chest tighten. He started to explore her body with small caresses, never going to far, afraid to make her uncomfortable. She felt her body burn.
"Raion," she whispered, flustered and happy.
He hushed her with one more kiss, then tucked her into the line of his body, forehead resting lightly to hers until both their breathing matched.
Raion (thought): Mine. Let them listen if they must. Let the world know who keeps her warm.
Across the cave, Kane stared into the dark, jaw hard, hands hidden under crossed arms. Hoping he could too, kiss her to sleep.
Kane (thought): Shameless panther. Shameless—no. She's still pure. Then why does it burn? Why won't it go cold?
Rurik lay with eyes closed and heart too open.
Rurik (thought): He is gentle with her. Good. Be gentle with her. And yet—what is this ache that feels like hunger and homesickness together?
The fire whispered lower. Winter pressed at the door and slid off, finding no entrance. Areum slept at last not to the memory of cold water or rushing lights, but to the quiet pulse of green beneath her hands—life answering life.
When morning came, none of them would have left. Not the bear who had tasted kindness and found it necessary. Not the wolf who had sworn off softness and now kept watch anyway. Not the panther who had said "for us" and meant forever.
And Areum—when she opened her eyes—would know, deep and simple, that she was not alone.