Damien leaned out to look. A crowd had gathered around what appeared to be a collapsed building – or rather, a building mid-collapse, propped up by hasty wooden supports while people evacuated belongings.
And standing in front of it, hands glowing with divine light, was Elara.
She'd been passing by and stopped to help. Of course she had. The Saintess didn't ignore people in need, even if it meant going off-schedule and probably earning another lecture from her supervisors.
Damien watched as she reinforced the building's structure with divine magic, buying time for the evacuation. Sister Catherine and two other clergy stood nearby, looking anxious about the impromptu good deed.
Then Damien noticed something the others hadn't – a crack spreading along the building's western wall, away from where Elara was focusing her attention. The structure was about to collapse from an unexpected angle.
And Elara was too focused on her current task to notice.
He was moving before he'd fully decided, vaulting from the carriage and pushing through the crowd. "Saintess! Western wall!"
Elara's head snapped toward him, then to where he was pointing. Her eyes widened as she saw the spreading crack.
"I can't reinforce both sides," she called back, strain evident in her voice. "If I let go of this section, the whole thing comes down!"
Damien assessed the situation rapidly. The building needed support, but Elara's magic could only cover so much area. Unless...
"Can you transfer some of your magic through another person?" he shouted. "Use them as a conduit?"
"Theoretically, yes, but it requires physical contact and it's incredibly dangerous if – "
"Do it." Damien was already moving to her side, extending his hand. "I'll channel the western wall. You maintain the main structure."
Sister Catherine started to object, but Elara was already making the decision. Her hand clasped his, and suddenly divine magic poured through him like liquid light.
It hurt. Not physically, but deeply – as if every moral compromise, every calculated manipulation, every lie he'd told was being illuminated by holy fire. The magic didn't care about his intentions or strategic thinking.
It simply was, pure and burning and absolutely uncompromising.
But he held on.
Through the connection, he could feel Elara's consciousness – her determination, her compassion, her desperate hope that no one would die today. It was overwhelming and humbling and completely at odds with how he'd been thinking about her.
She wasn't a target or a quest objective. She was a person, real and complex and currently trusting him with power that could burn him alive if he misused it.
Focus, he told himself. Western wall. Channel the magic. Deal with philosophical crises later.
He directed the divine energy toward the spreading crack, reinforcing it with Elara's power flowing through him. The magic resisted – it didn't like being used by someone calculating and manipulative – but he pushed through the resistance with pure will.
Together, they held the building stable until the last person evacuated.
Then they let go simultaneously, and the structure collapsed in a controlled fall, turning deadly situation into property damage.
Elara stumbled, exhausted. Damien caught her automatically, the same way he had in the forest, and for a moment they stood there in full public view, his arms around her waist, her hands on his shoulders, both breathing hard from exertion.
The crowd erupted in cheers.
Sister Catherine looked absolutely horrified.
And Aldric Brightblade, who'd arrived at some point during the rescue, stared at them with an expression of complete bewilderment.
"You're insane," Elara gasped, but she was smiling. "That could have killed you."
"But it didn't." Damien steadied her until she could stand on her own. "Are you alright?"
"Exhausted. That took everything." She swayed again, and this time Sister Catherine caught her.
"We're returning to the compound," the older woman announced firmly. "Immediately. Saintess, you've overextended yourself helping commoners – "
"Helping people," Elara corrected, some steel entering her tired voice. "That's my purpose, isn't it?"
Sister Catherine had no response to that, but her disapproving look promised future lectures.
Elara glanced back at Damien as she was led away. "Thank you. Again. You keep showing up when I need help."
"Coincidence," Damien said lightly. "I have excellent timing."
She laughed – brief and genuine – before Sister Catherine hustled her into a Church carriage.
Damien stood in the dispersing crowd, very aware of multiple things:
First, his entire body ached from channeling divine magic. That had been significantly less pleasant than anticipated.
Second, the moment had been perfect for his goals – public heroism, physical contact, emotional connection, all with witnesses to spread the story.
Third, and most troubling, he'd moved to help her before calculating the strategic benefit. Pure instinct. That was... concerning.
[CORRUPTION MILESTONE: Physical Intimacy (Public)]
[REPUTATION UPDATE: "Noble Who Helped the Saintess" - public opinion +50]
[WARNING: Player showing signs of emotional attachment]
[Intimacy +15]
[CURRENT AFFECTION: Conflicted Attraction → Growing Devotion]
"Lord Valcrest."
Damien turned to find Aldric approaching, his earnest expression now mixed with something sharper.
"That was brave," the hero said. "Foolish, but brave."
"Thank you?"
"I'm trying to figure you out." Aldric studied him intently. "You're either genuinely noble, or you're playing a very sophisticated game. I'm not sure which."
Damien met his eyes directly. "Does it matter? Either way, the Saintess is safe."
"It matters if you're using her."
"And your devoted protection isn't using her? Trading security for access, heroism for affection?" Damien smiled coldly. "We're all using each other, hero. The question is whether we're honest about it."
Aldric's hand went to his sword hilt instinctively, then dropped. "This isn't over."
"I wouldn't expect it to be." Damien turned back to his carriage. "But next time you want to protect her, try actually being there. I'm getting tired of doing your job."
He left Aldric standing in the street, climbed into his carriage, and finally allowed himself to process what had just happened.
He'd touched divine magic. Actually channeled it. And it had felt like being judged by some absolute moral standard he'd never believed in.
Worse, for just a moment during that connection with Elara, he'd felt what she felt – the pure desire to help, untainted by calculation or strategy. Just compassion, simple and uncomplicated.
It had been beautiful.
It had been terrifying.
"Home," he told the driver quietly.
As the carriage rolled away, Damien leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to sort calculation from genuine feeling and finding the line increasingly blurred.
He'd planned the ceremony perfectly. The impromptu rescue had been fortunate happenstance he'd exploited brilliantly. The confrontation with Aldric had established dominance.
Everything was going according to plan.
So why did he feel like the plan was becoming insufficient?
[WARNING: Player emotional attachment increasing]
[Recommendation: Maintain strategic distance to preserve objective perspective]
"Noted," Damien muttered. "But maybe later."
For now, he was fine remembering what it felt like to hold her while she smiled, and not think about why.