Ragnar leaned against the rough-hewn table in the dimly lit hut, his clawed fingers drumming softly on the wood as he eyed Bella.
The bunny woman's ears twitched under the weight of the conversation, her fur glistening faintly in the lantern light.
She paced the small space, her lithe form casting long shadows that danced like uneasy spirits.
"How do we get to the demon rift?" Ragnar asked, his voice low and steady, cutting through the silence like a blade through fog.
Bella stopped, her pink nose wrinkling as she crossed her arms.
"I... I know someone who might have the location mapped out. An old friend, sharp as a thorn.
But I hate her—always have. She's arrogant, thinks her spells make her better than the rest of us mortals scrambling in the dirt."
Ragnar's brow furrowed, sensing the bitterness lacing her words.
"Hate or not, if she knows the way, we need her. The rift won't wait for grudges to settle."
Bella sighed, her ears drooping slightly.
"Fine. But we'll have to prepare first. She live in Vale city.
We needs to go back to the village—stock up on supplies, rally whoever's willing.
We can't charge in half-ready; that's a death wish."
The group murmured agreements, the air thick with unspoken fears.
As they gathered their packs, Ragnar paused, a flicker of memory pulling at him like a forgotten thread.
"Hold up," he said, slinging his satchel over his shoulder.
"I need to handle something quick. Meet you back at the hut soon."
He stepped out into the crisp evening air, the path to the kobold village winding through dense underbrush that rustled with hidden life.
'Mia,' he thought, his mind drifting to the goblin woman he'd pulled from the wreckage of her old life.
After he'd ended Bruuk—the traitor elder who'd sold out his own in the goblin village—Ragnar had seen the hollow look in her eyes.
Bruuk's betrayal had shattered more than alliances; it had left Mia adrift, a widow marked by association.
He'd brought her here, to his kobold stronghold, under his protection.
'She shouldn't be alone right now. Not with tempers still simmering.'
The village huts loomed ahead, smoke curling from chimneys like lazy serpents.
Ragnar approached the modest door he'd assigned her, his heart quickening for reasons he couldn't quite name.
He rapped his knuckles against the wood—once, twice.
A sharp shout pierced the air from inside, Mia's voice laced with terror.
"No—get away!"
Ragnar's blood turned to ice.
Without a second's hesitation, he reared back and kicked, the door splintering under his force like dry kindling.
Wood shards flew as he burst in, his eyes wild, scanning the dim interior.
"Mia!" he bellowed, fear clawing at his chest like a beast unleashed.
'If anyone's hurt her...'
There, in the flickering glow of a single candle, Mia cowered against the far wall, her green skin pale with fright.
A female goblin loomed over her, knife raised high, the blade catching the light in a deadly gleam.
The intruder's face twisted in rage, her grip trembling as she prepared to strike.
Ragnar lunged, a blur of scales and fury.
He tackled the attacker mid-swing, wrenching the knife from her hand and pinning her to the floor with his weight.
Mia gasped, scrambling back, her eyes wide.
"Why?" Ragnar growled, his claws pressing just enough to hold her still without drawing blood.
"Why come here? What do you want with her?"
The goblin woman snarled at first, then deflated, tears streaking her dirt-smudged cheeks.
"My family... my husband... everything ruined because of him. Bruuk, that traitor bastard.
He dragged us all down with his schemes, left us starving, broken.
And she—his wife—gets to hide here, safe under your wing? It's not fair!"
Mia straightened slowly, her breath ragged, but her gaze softened as she met the woman's eyes.
"I know," she said quietly, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.
"I can't pretend it's okay. I'm guilty too—for marrying that asshole. He never treated me right, not once."
Ragnar glanced at Mia, surprise flickering across his features.
The attacker paused, her struggles easing as Mia continued, her words spilling out like a long-held confession.
"He'd come home reeking of ale and lies, shove me around like I was nothing.
Beat me for looking at him wrong, starved me of any kindness.
He called me worthless, broke my spirit a little more each day.
But I stayed, fool that I was, thinking it'd change. It never did."
Ragnar's grip loosened slightly on the attacker, his mind reeling.
'How much did she endure? All that poison, and she never shattered.
And now... no hate in her eyes for this woman who just tried to end her.'
Admiration swelled in him, warm and unexpected, humanizing the fierce kobold chief in a way that battles never could.
The door creaked wider as village guards rushed in, alerted by the commotion.
They hauled the sobbing goblin woman to her feet, binding her wrists with rough rope.
"We'll handle her, chief," one grunted, dragging her out into the night.
The hut fell silent, save for the crackle of the candle.
Mia turned to Ragnar, her eyes meeting his with a new intensity.
The air between them thickened, charged like the moments before a storm.
She stepped closer, her fingers brushing his arm, sending a spark through his scales.
"You saved me," she whispered, a sly smile curving her lips.
Slowly, deliberately, she slipped out of her simple dress, draping a worn apron over her bare form—nothing beneath but her curves and that teasing grin.
"How about I reward you properly?"
Ragnar's breath caught, heat rising in his veins.
Before he could respond, she tugged his hand, pulling him toward the small kitchen alcove, the promise in her eyes pulling him deeper into the moment.