The guild archives felt like a tomb after dark—silent save for the occasional creak of settling shelves and the soft rustle of turning pages. Candle wax dripped in slow, steady beads from iron sconces, pooling in hardened rivulets that scented the air with faint honey and smoke. Waxlight flickered across endless rows of leather-bound tomes, casting long, wavering shadows that danced like restless spirits over faded maps and crumbling manuscripts. The chill of stone seeped through the floor, cooling the soles of boots, while dust motes hung suspended in the golden beams, thick enough to taste—dry, papery, laced with the lingering vanilla of preservation charms.
Riven had returned late, drawn by fragments overheard in the hall: dispatches from eastern guilds mentioning a party rising swiftly, clearing high-threat dungeons with uncanny precision. Vespera's group. Their tactics mirrored his old ones too closely—flawless ambushes, perfect resource allocation. Stolen. Profited from. His hatred simmered, a cold ember flaring brighter.
He sought confirmation in records—logs of notable parties, quest completions, rank advancements.
Elowen was already there, as if waiting.
She sat cross-legged on the floor amid a fortress of open volumes, spectacles perched low on her nose, chestnut curls spilling loose and wild over her shoulders. Azure robes pooled around her like spilled water, side slits riding up to expose long, shapely legs and the subtle narrow thigh gap between them as she shifted for comfort. Candlelight warmed her freckled skin to a golden glow, highlighting the erratic rise and fall of her perky breasts with each absorbed breath, robe fabric stretching taut.
She looked up at his approach, sapphire eyes widening behind lenses. "You're... here late." A nervous ramble bubbled forth. "I couldn't sleep—kept thinking about the convoy reports. There's overlap in the eastern dispatches with relic patterns I've cataloged, and if you cross-reference the mana signatures—"
He crouched beside her, mask's shadow falling across the pages. "Show me."
She nodded eagerly, scooting closer—thigh brushing his, warm and soft. Parchment scent enveloped him strongly, mixed with her sweet herbs. She spread maps and logs, fingers tracing routes with ink-smudged tips. "See here—Vespera's Crimson Blades. Dungeon clears in record time. Tactics too efficient. Almost... predictive."
His aura intensified unconsciously. She faltered mid-sentence, breath catching.
"They ride stolen strategies," he said quietly.
Her eyes met his mask's sockets, understanding dawning. "Your old party?"
He nodded once.
Sympathy softened her features. "That's... awful. But you're surpassing them already. Everyone talks about the masked tactician."
Praise stirred something. She flushed deeper, freckles stark against patchy reds.
They worked in tandem—cross-referencing, her knowledge filling gaps in his reconnaissance. Hours blurred. Candles burned lower, wax pooling thicker.
Discourse turned technical: rune alignments, monster behaviors, tactical variances. Elowen rambled passionately—voice gaining confidence, hands gesturing animatedly. She leaned forward often, robe gaping slightly to reveal the soft swell of breasts, puffy protruding nipples faintly outlined even at rest.
One tangent led to another. She reached for a high shelf volume—standing on tiptoes, robes hiking higher, exposing more thigh and the heated narrow space between. The book teetered.
It fell.
She lunged—and overbalanced again, pitching forward with a startled gasp. Scrolls scattered like startled birds.
Riven caught her, arms wrapping her waist. She collided fully against him—curves yielding, warm and soft, face pressing to his chest. Glasses skewed, curls tousling across his vest. Her body trembled, breaths quickening against him, herbal scent overwhelming.
This time, he didn't release immediately.
The archives' quiet amplified everything: her ragged inhales, the flicker of candles, wax dripping in slow plops.
She looked up, sapphire eyes wide and vulnerable behind lenses. "I... always do this. Clumsy. But you... you make it feel safe."
Heat built. His hand slid up her back—deliberate, firm. She shivered, pressing closer instinctively.
"Well done," he murmured. Praise deliberate, testing.
She gasped softly—body reacting viscerally, a shy whimper escaping. Freckled skin flushed in erratic waves, spreading down her neck.
The mask came off.
He removed it slowly, setting voidstone aside on a stack of tomes. The cool air kissed his face—midnight hair tousled, piercing amber eyes fully revealed, jagged scar snaking his collarbone in the candlelight. Vulnerability shared, a crack in the armor.
Her breath hitched sharper. Fingers rose tentatively, tracing his jaw—warm, trembling. "You're... beautiful. Beneath it all."
Intimacy escalated.
He pulled her fully into his lap as he sat against a shelf, robes parting. Her thighs straddled him, narrow thigh gap pressing hot against his growing hardness. Hands roamed—his delving robe slits, cupping perky breasts, thumbs circling puffy protruding nipples that stiffened instantly into rosy nubs encircled by fine, textured areolas puckering and beading with sweat under his touch.
She moaned—awkward, sounds, hips grinding clumsily as arousal built. Robe hiked higher, exposing her butterfly-shaped outer lips in flushed peach tones, swelling open to reveal ruffled, protruding inner labia in vibrant pink, already oozing sticky honey that slicked her narrow thigh gap and dampened his trousers.
Fingers explored—parting moist ridges, delving her tight entrance that pulsed with awkward contractions, coating digits in warm nectar. Scents thick—parchment, sweet herbs, musky arousal filling the dusty air.
She fumbled with his vest and trousers, freeing his thick shaft—veined, throbbing. Her rosebud lips parted hesitantly, descending with nerdy enthusiasm: tentative licks along the length, tongue swirling clumsily at the tip, tasting salty precum. She took him deeper, gagging softly on girth, saliva dribbling messily down shaft and chin, glasses fogging from heated breaths. Rhythm awkward but eager—bobs building, hands stroking what mouth couldn't reach, shy whimpers vibrating around him.
He guided with quiet praise—"Deeper. Good."—triggering her kink, body arching, pussy lips flushing deeper, dripping more onto his lap in sticky trails.
Climax neared for him—her sucks desperate, throat working around him in awkward fumblings. Release spilled hot across her tongue; she swallowed clumsily, coughing softly, excess dribbling down freckled chin onto heaving breasts.
Aftershocks trembled through her—thighs quaking, arousal beading and pooling in her crevice, body flushing patchy reds.
He held her through it, mask still aside, amber eyes on hers.
Vow strained—but held. No further.
She nestled against him, sated yet yearning more, breaths evening in the waxlight's glow.
Treachery echoes confirmed: Vespera's rise, built on his shadow.
He would shatter it.
Soon.