The silence in the tent was so thick it felt like touch it and it would burst into heat. Only the fire crackled in the lamps, casting golden flickers over bare bodies—strewn, entwined, aroused.
Naira lay on her back—heavy, calm, like a great stone statue just brought to life. Her breasts—sumptuous, majestic—rose in an even rhythm, yet something unspoken shimmered in her eyes. Pleasure had come, but she wanted more. Deeper. Fuller.
And in that moment Lianel slowly crawled toward her. Her slender body in leather straps slid over Naira's golden skin as if across an altar.
—"I want... to be beside you," she whispers.
She climbs on, settling directly on Naira's belly, carefully, as if exploring a new, hot planet. Her hands glide to the orc woman's breasts, and she begins to knead them softly—not rough, but tender, as if touching the sun.
Naira closes her eyes and breathes deeper. Her body trembles, but she doesn't stop the elf. On the contrary—her hands drift along Lianel's thighs, granting permission to keep playing.
And Lianel... starts to move. Her hips rock forward and back, slow circles—languid, enticing, dancing. She turns, her butt now right before Kano—and the thin leather bands upon it, like patterns, like an invitation.
He watches. He kneels between Naira's parted legs. His gaze slides down Lianel, lingers on her motions, on the way she rubs against the other woman's body, on the way her breasts glide over the golden orbits of Naira's nipples.
And he... can't hold back.
He takes her by the waist. Lianel only arches more—the curve of her hips tilts back, offering everything.
—"Take me," she whispers. —"I'm yours."
Kano enters her from behind—smooth, but deep.
Lianel arches, tosses her head back, breathes out loud, fingers clenching into Naira's breasts.
And Naira—she's breathless from it. From being the bed, the pillar of breasts, the inner fire that shares its heat as Kano claims them both.
—"Oh yes..." she whispers, "keep moving like that... I can feel... everything..."
Kano holds her by the waist, his hips merging with hers in rhythm; he feels every tightening of muscle, waves rolling over him again and again.
He lifts his eyes—sees Lianel kissing Naira's breasts, tender, lingering, her tongue tracing the nipples before she bites one—softly, playfully.
Naira arches beneath her. Her breasts quiver. Her hands clutch the sheet.
—"Your touch..." she breathes, "so gentle... I never knew I could love this..."
And then—the third shadow.
Selina.
She crawls in from the side, already kindled by what she's seen. Her body trembles, her eyes gleam. She doesn't ask. She simply... takes his hand and sets it between her thighs.
—"I won't last..." she whispers. —"Touch me. Make me... burn too."
Kano slides his fingers along her wet skin, slips inside her. Selina gasps softly, pressing to his shoulder, one leg thrown over Naira's thigh.
—"More... a little... deeper..."
He moves inside Lianel. He is sliding his fingers into Selina. Naira is beneath them.
He does not feel fatigue. Only waves. Rhythms. Bodies. Breath.
They hold him, draw him in, accept him.
He is not a hero. He is a part. Their center. Their flame. Their Kano.
Revena stood outside the tent.
No—at first she sat. Then pressed herself to the wall. Then crawled closer.
And now—crouched, cheek against the heavy hide the tent was made of.
She looked, at the very least... not demonic.
But... she couldn't leave. Just get up—and go.
At first she thought it would all be funny.
"This minute your bashful little healer will swoon, the elf will start crying, and the giant orc woman will just crush that boy between her breasts. That's it, show's over, curtain."
But... no.
From the tent came neither cries of fright nor startled yelps.
Instead...
Rhythmic, almost musical sounds.
Heavy breathing. Elemental moans.
Revena narrowed her eyes.
"This... isn't what I expected..."
Her ears trembled. Fire burned in her belly. And not from jealousy.
From... envy?
—"I was the one who should be in there," she whispered to herself. —"Me. Fire. Skill. Instinct. I know how to do this right!"
And then from inside came a quiet, impossibly juicy moan, and Revena's shoulders... slumped.
"Are they studying the Kama Sutra while I'm freezing out here?!"
She glanced to the side, made sure no one was nearby.
She crouched closer, pressed to the slit where light leaked through.
And what did she see?
—"Oh no..." whispered Revena, watching Lianel astride Naira, rolling her hips, playing with her breasts, while Kano... stood behind, hands locked at her waist, entering her like a god of accursed fertility.
Revena clutched her head.
—"No-no-no, this is too much!" she grated through her teeth. —"He... he was blushing just recently, staring at my shoulders!
And now he..."
Her thoughts were cut off by a sound.
Loud. Hoarse. Deep.
A true cry of bliss.
"Wait... that isn't him... That's... that's the orc woman?!"
Revena's eyes went wide as saucers. Her ears flushed. Her fingers clenched into fists. And inside her, something... scratched.
Not rage.
A mixture of disappointment and the hunger to be inside. In both the literal and the figurative sense.
"I didn't manipulate everyone for this. I'm not just a body... I'm not just... the shadow of their tale!"
And then... she understood.
To reach that fire...
She had to stop being just a temptress.
She had to become one of them.
And that... hurt.
Because for the first time in her life she realized not everything can be taken by force. Sometimes it has to be earned.
And that's why... she stayed in the shadows.
But not for long.
Night had long since fallen over the camp. The stars watched from above, cold and distant. The fires crackled farther off, but no one was making merry anymore. Everything seemed hushed.
Everything except what was happening behind the tent's leather curtain.
Revena sat staring into the fire. Ten steps to the entrance—no more. But she didn't move. Didn't dare.
Muffled sounds came from the tent: moans, whispers, smothered cries of pleasure. They struck her ears like blows. But she wasn't laughing now.
"I should have been in there first..."
"I'm the one who showed them how to do this..."
"I was always first, always..."
But not this time.
This time she wasn't desire. She was—outside.
Her hands trembled. From cold? No. From everything she remembered.
"My queen..."
The image rose like a childhood horror. Strong. Terrible. Cold.
The one who ordered her to sleep with those who could yield political gain.
The one who made Revena into a weapon. Body as tool. Soul as small change.
"How many nights did I spend beside those who didn't even remember my name..."
She bit her lip. The fire reflected in her eyes.
She was no longer sure who she was now.
"Am I still following orders? Or already just running? And... from whom?"
Footsteps to the side. A shadow.
—"Hm..." came a familiar voice, with that same ironic tone. —"And here I thought you were already inside, running the parade of bodies."
Revena lifted her gaze. Elgot stood leaning toward her, a mug in his hand.
—"What do you want?" she asked wearily.
—"To watch pride fall," he drank and smiled. —"You don't see a demoness every day standing by while other women satisfy a boy who yesterday didn't even know from which side to approach temptation."
Revena was silent. Her eyes flared. But... not with anger. More with bewilderment.
—"And what will you do?" asked Elgot, stepping back. —"Go back to your queen and tell her you lost?
Or finally decide what you actually want?"
—"I..." she began, then stopped. —"I... don't know..."
Elgot spread his hands.
—"Then good luck to you. You can either give up, or surpass yourself. But... decide quickly. Because he's already changed. And you're no longer the only one who knows how to burn."
He left—toward the forge. There, the shouts, the heat, the dwarves, and the clatter of tankards were waiting.
And Revena... remained.
In that moment she understood:
for the first time in her life she didn't know what she wanted.
Her mission, her orders, her purpose—everything had crumbled.
And in its place—only the desire to be near.
Without coercion. Without roles. Without tasks.
But... would they let her?
Her fingers touched her lips. She looked at her hands.
They were beautiful. Strong. But they no longer felt like weapons.
—"If I touch him again..." she whispered. —"This will be... not an order. This will be me."
And for the first time in many years, something appeared in her eyes she hadn't known since youth.
Doubt.
The tent no longer breathed fire.
It breathed warmth... and happiness.
Kano lay amid the pillows. His body was tired but not spent—full of sensations still pulsing through every muscle.
He couldn't believe it had all happened. But it had.
Not a dream. Not a delirium. Not a fantasy in a lonely boy's head.
His head rested on Naira's thighs. Her warm, soft skin was like the best pillow in the world. She stroked his hair, rarely but gently. There was no force in her touch—only tenderness.
Lianel lay to his left, cheek nestled to his shoulder. Her fingers traced his belly, sketching invisible circles that echoed as a light shiver.
On the right—Selina. Her palm rested in his hand. She slid her fingers along his wrist and now and then squeezed, as if afraid he might vanish.
Their bodies were bare, but no longer for seduction—for trust.
Kano closed his eyes.
"This isn't a dream.
This isn't an accident.
They are here. And I am here. And I... am loved.
They breathe me in. They choose me. Not because I must be strong... but simply—because I am."
He felt a smile appear on its own.
For the first time in a very long while... he was at peace.
Just lying there.
And caressing Selina's thigh.
Feeling Lianel's warmth against him.
Listening to Naira's breath above him.