Forbidden Bond: A Velthorn Tale

Lady Veldrin stepped through a shimmering portal, her silver hair flowing behind her as she entered the dimly lit room that served as Borst's office. The air crackled with residual energy from her magical entrance, causing the few candles in the room to flicker ominously. Behind her, a shadow demon floated silently, its form barely distinguishable from the darkness that clung to the corners of the room.

Her piercing gaze swept across the empty office, taking in the cluttered desk and the musty smell of old parchments. Lady Veldrin's lips curled in distaste as she sucked her teeth, annoyance radiating from her regal form. She did not appreciate being kept waiting, especially not by someone as lowly as Borst.

Three days had passed since her last communication with the incompetent fool. Three days of silence, with no word of the boy and the goblin girl's capture. Her patience, already wearing thin, was at its breaking point.

With a graceful movement, Lady Veldrin lowered herself into a chair, her dark gown pooling around her feet. The shadow demon took up a position behind her, its presence a palpable threat in the small room. As the minutes ticked by, Lady Veldrin's fingers drummed an impatient rhythm on the armrest, the only sound in the oppressive silence.

After what felt like an eternity but was closer to thirty minutes, the door burst open. Borst stumbled in, his corpulent form wheezing from exertion. He rushed to his desk, seemingly oblivious to Lady Veldrin's presence. With frantic movements, he began grabbing items and shoving them into a sack, his pudgy fingers fumbling in his haste.

"Must get out... not safe... they'll kill me," Borst muttered to himself, fear evident in every word and gesture.

Lady Veldrin's voice cut through his panicked mumbling like a knife. "Hello, Borst. Going on a trip?" The words dripped with venom, each syllable a thinly veiled threat.

Borst froze, the color draining from his face as he slowly raised his eyes to meet Lady Veldrin's cold gaze. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly as he took in the sight of her and the looming shadow demon.

As Borst began to stammer out pleas for mercy and forgiveness, Lady Veldrin raised a hand, silencing him instantly. The room grew colder, the shadows deeper, as she prepared to pass judgment on her failed servant.

Lady Veldrin's eyes narrowed, her voice as cold as ice. "You have failed me and the Duke for the last time, Borst. Your punishment is at hand."

Borst fell to his knees, his corpulent form shaking as he blubbered pleas for mercy. With a sharp snap of Lady Veldrin's fingers, the shadow demon moved swiftly. Its ethereal form engulfed Borst, lifting him effortlessly and muffling his cries with a tendril of darkness.

"Now that's a good little piggy," Lady Veldrin purred, rising from her seat with feline grace. She approached Borst, her steps measured and deliberate. A slight nod to the shadow demon, and Borst was hoisted higher, suspended before her like a puppet.

Lady Veldrin's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Oh tsk tsk, Borst. I know you were counting on that thug Rawl to bring them back." She examined her nails with feigned disinterest as Borst writhed in the demon's grasp.

Her mind flashed to the report she had received mere hours ago from one of her shadow demons. The ethereal creature had been scouring the countryside, searching for any sign of the elusive boy and his goblin companion. While it hadn't located the pair, it had made a grim discovery near a small homestead beside a large oak tree.

The demon had sensed death lingering in the air, drawing it to an area of freshly disturbed soil. Four bodies lay buried there, their spirits still clinging to the mortal realm. One of those restless souls belonged to Rawl. The shadow demon had also noted signs of a hasty departure from the homestead, suggesting that Mikhail and Anora had likely passed through.

With a slight gesture, Lady Veldrin opened a portal behind her. Rawl's battered corpse tumbled through, landing with a sickening thud, soil and clumps of grass scattered across the wooden floor. Borst's muffled scream filled the room as he recognized the lifeless form of his once-trusted lieutenant.

"As you can see, my dear Borst, Rawl is dead," Lady Veldrin stated matter-of-factly. Her tone hardened as she continued, "I don't understand how a young boy and a goblin have bested your men, Borst. But it does annoy me that it has happened."

Borst's frantic attempts to speak were cut short as Lady Veldrin nodded once more to the shadow demon. In an instant, Borst, the demon, and Rawl's corpse vanished into a swirling vortex of darkness, leaving behind only the lingering echo of Borst's terror.

Moments later, the shadow demon reappeared alone, its form rippling with unnatural energy. It whispered to Lady Veldrin in a voice that seemed to chill the very air around them. "My lady, Selene awaits your presence in the alleyway in Greland, as requested."

Lady Veldrin nodded, a cold smile playing on her lips. At least some of her agents were competent. Without a word, she stepped into another portal that materialized before her. The demon followed, its presence a silent menace.

Selene stood in the dimly lit alleyway, her nimble fingers checking each of her knives with practiced precision. The sudden crackle of energy to her left made her pause, her hand instinctively moving to the hilt of her favorite blade. A portal tore open the very fabric of reality, dark energy washing over her like an icy wave.

Lady Veldrin emerged from the swirling vortex, her silver hair seeming to glow in the darkness. The shadow demon followed closely behind, its presence a palpable aura of malevolence. Selene's keen eyes took in every detail of their arrival, her face a mask of calm indifference.

With fluid grace, Selene placed a fist over her chest and bowed slightly. "Good evening, my lady," she greeted, her voice low and respectful.

Lady Veldrin barely acknowledged the gesture, her nose wrinkling in disgust at their squalid surroundings. "Selene," she began, her tone crisp and businesslike. "I have a job for you. I want you to track down a young man and a goblin."

As Lady Veldrin described Mikhail and Anora, along with the distinctive elk they traveled on, Selene committed every detail to memory. Her mind was already formulating plans, considering routes and strategies.

"Do you wish for me to kill them?" Selene asked, her voice devoid of emotion.

Lady Veldrin shook her head. "No. I want you to steer them towards the city." She gestured at the buildings around them. "Bring them to Greland. Use whatever means necessary to accomplish this."

Selene nodded, her face betraying nothing of her thoughts. "And my payment?" she inquired, ever the professional.

With a roll of her eyes, Lady Veldrin snapped her fingers. The shadow demon floated forward, extending what could loosely be called a hand. It produced a bag of gold coins, dropping it into Selene's waiting palm.

For a brief, heart-stopping moment, Selene felt the full force of the demon's hatred and malevolence towards humans. The sensation sent a chill down her spine, but years of training allowed her to maintain her blank expression. It wasn't the first time she had encountered such otherworldly malice, but it never failed to unnerve her.

"That's half of your fee, assassin," Lady Veldrin stated coldly. "You'll get the rest once you complete the job."

A portal shimmered into existence behind Lady Veldrin. As she and the shadow demon turned to leave, she paused, looking back at Selene. "Oh, Selene," she added, her voice dripping with menace, "do not fail me. Or my friend here will pay you a visit. And not a pleasant one."

With those final words, Lady Veldrin and the shadow demon vanished through the portal, leaving Selene alone in the alley once more.

Selene stood motionless in the alley for a long moment after Lady Veldrin and the shadow demon disappeared through the portal. The weight of the gold coins in her hand was a tangible reminder of the task ahead, but it was the lingering chill of the demon's malevolence that truly occupied her thoughts.

She tossed the bag of coins up and down, the soft clink of metal against metal breaking the eerie silence that had fallen over the alley. The confident grin that spread across her face was as much a mask as it was a genuine expression of her self-assurance.

"I never fail," Selene declared to the empty alley, her voice barely above a whisper. The words were a mantra, a promise to herself as much as a statement of fact.

As she pocketed the coins, Selene's mind was already racing, formulating plans and contingencies. The young man and the goblin girl would be a challenge, especially if they were aware they were being pursued. But Selene had tracked more elusive prey before, and the distinctive elk they traveled on would make her job easier.

She began to move, her steps silent as a cat's as she melted into the deeper shadows of the alley. Her dark clothing and hooded cloak helped her blend seamlessly with the night, making her all but invisible to any casual observer.

As she reached the alley's entrance, Selene paused, her keen eyes scanning the street beyond. Cedarcrest was her destination, but she knew the value of proper preparation. She would need supplies, information, and perhaps a few specialized tools for this hunt.

A small smile played on her lips as she considered the challenge ahead. This was more than just another job; it was a test of her skills, a chance to prove once again why she was considered the best in her deadly profession.

With a final glance back at where the portal had been, Selene stepped out onto the street. The hunt had begun, and she was eager to get started. As she disappeared into the night, the only sign of her passing was a whisper of movement in the shadows, easily mistaken for nothing more than a trick of the light.

Mikhail stood in the Moonwell, his mind reeling from the intense visions and the shock of accidentally striking Anora. His blue eyes were wide with confusion and distress as he looked at Kaelith, seeking answers.

"What's going on? Where are we?" Mikhail asked, his voice hoarse and trembling.

Kaelith knelt beside the pool, his face etched with concern. "We had to bring you to the Moonwell to heal you," he explained quickly. "You were burning up with fever, and nothing else was working. This place... it has powerful magic."

Mikhail nodded slowly, the information sinking in. He glanced around at the ancient stone structures surrounding them, feeling a sense of awe and unease.

"Don't worry about all that right now," Kaelith urged, his voice gentle but firm. "You should go after Anora. She shouldn’t be alone in these woods."

Realization dawned on Mikhail's face, and he nodded in agreement. Without another word, he scrambled to his feet, water cascading off his body as he climbed out of the Moonwell. In his haste, he forgot about his discarded blue tunic, leaving his chest bare as he took off running in the direction Anora had fled.

"Anora!" Mikhail called out, his voice echoing through the ruins. "Anora, please! I'm sorry!"

As he ran further from the Moonwell, the darkness of the night closed in around him. The faint glow that had illuminated the ancient structure faded, leaving Mikhail to navigate through the shadows of crumbling buildings and overgrown vegetation. His pace slowed as he realized how difficult it was to see, his hands outstretched to avoid colliding with unseen obstacles.

Mikhail stumbled forward, his bare feet scraping against rough stone and twigs. He strained his ears, listening for any sign of Anora. Just as he was about to call out again, he heard it – the soft sound of crying carried on the night breeze.

Following the sound, Mikhail carefully made his way through the darkness. As his eyes adjusted, he could make out the faint outline of a stream, its water glimmering in the moonlight. There, perched on a rock beside the gently flowing water, sat Anora. Her small form was hunched over, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. If it hadn’t been for her having her voice back he would have ran past her.

As Mikhail gazed at Anora's huddled form, a powerful wave of guilt and shame washed over him. The memory of his unintentional blow replayed in his mind, each detail magnified by remorse. His chest tightened with the weight of his actions, and he swallowed hard against the lump forming in his throat. The ancient trees of Aur'Thala loomed around them, silent witnesses to their pain.

Cautiously, he stepped onto the smooth surface of the rock where Anora had taken refuge. In the soft moonlight filtering through the dense canopy, he saw Anora's pointed ears twitch at the sound of his approach. The slight movement made his heart ache, a reminder of her keen senses and her acute awareness of his presence. Mikhail hesitated, uncertain how to bridge the gap that had seemingly opened between them.

After a moment's deliberation, he lowered himself onto the rock beside her. The stone was cool against his skin through his wet trousers, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from Anora's small form. The air around them was thick with the scent of damp earth and ancient magic, remnants of their time in the Moonwell. Gently, he placed his hand on her back, and started moving it in slow, soothing circles. He hoped the gesture would convey his remorse and desperate desire to comfort her.

But Anora was not ready to accept his touch. With a sharp, angry motion, she shrugged off his hand. Her face remained buried in her knees, her body language a clear rejection of his attempt at consolation. The bright red of her curls seemed dulled in the shadows, mirroring the somber mood between them. Mikhail's hand hovered in the air for a moment, suspended between them like the words he couldn't find.

Mikhail withdrew his hand, letting it fall limply to his side. The weight of his actions pressed down on him, heavier than any physical burden he'd ever carried. He sat in silence, the quiet broken only by the gentle babbling of the stream and Anora's muffled sniffles. The sound cut through him like a knife.

The night air felt heavy with unspoken words and raw emotions as Mikhail searched for the right way to express his sorrow and make amends. The ruins of Aur'Thala seemed to close in around them, the ancient stones holding centuries of secrets and sorrows. The stream quietly running through them.

He stole a glance at Anora, taking in the curve of her back, the tension in her shoulders. Her green skin seemed to glow faintly in the moonlight, a reminder of her otherworldly beauty that had captivated him from the start.

As he sat there, the events of the past few days washed over him. The attack in Sablewood, their narrow escape, finding Kaelith and Calista’s homestead, Rawl and his gang attacking them, - it all seemed like a lifetime ago somehow. Yet here they were, in the heart of an ancient forest, their bond tested by a moment of unintentional violence.

Mikhail's mind raced, trying to find the words to bridge the gap between them. He knew he had to speak, to try and mend what had been broken. But as he opened his mouth, he found himself paralyzed by the fear of saying the wrong thing, of pushing Anora further away.

The forest around them seemed to hold its breath, waiting to see what would unfold between the human boy and the half-goblin girl. In the distance, an owl hooted softly, its mournful cry echoing through the trees like a lament for their pain.

Mikhail took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he needed to say. He felt that this moment could define their future together - or tear them apart forever.

For some reason Mikhail's mind drifted to a memory from his childhood in Aldernhor. The image of his family's modest home materialized in his thoughts, the warm glow of candlelight flickering through the windows. He recalled a particularly heated argument between his parents, the raised voices and tense atmosphere that had filled their usually peaceful dwelling. The memory was vivid - the sharp crack of his father's palm against the wooden table, his mother's voice rising in pitch as she fought back tears.

But what stood out most was the aftermath - his mother's tear-stained face, the hurt in her eyes that lingered long after the fight had ended. He remembered how small and frightened he had felt, huddled with his sister in the corner, watching their parents' anger dissipate into a heavy, oppressive silence. The recollection stirred something deep within him, a visceral understanding of the damage that could be done by a single moment of thoughtless anger. He knew, with sudden clarity, that he never wanted to see that same pain reflected in Anora's eyes. Although he hadn’t been angry, the situation felt very similar.

The gentle lapping of water against the shore and the rustling of leaves in the ancient trees of Aur'Thala brought Mikhail back to the present. The cool night air carried the scent of damp earth and pine, a stark contrast to the warmth of his childhood memory.

"Anora," Mikhail said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. The name hung in the air between them, weighted with unspoken emotions. It felt foreign on his tongue, as if the events of the past few hours had changed even this most familiar of words.

She remained motionless, her small form curled tightly into itself, giving no indication that she had heard him. The silence stretched between them, as vast and imposing as the ancient forest surrounding them. Mikhail took a deep breath, the cool air filling his lungs as he steeled himself. "Anora," he repeated, his voice stronger this time, imbued with a quiet determination that surprised even him.

Slowly, Anora raised her head. Her orange eyes, usually so bright and full of life - eyes that had captivated Mikhail from the moment he first saw them - were now clouded with tears and blazing with anger. The intensity of her gaze struck Mikhail like a physical blow, making him flinch involuntarily. In that moment, he felt stripped bare, every mistake and shortcoming laid out for judgment under the fierce scrutiny of those otherworldly eyes.

But it was the sight of his hand's mark on her left cheek that truly shattered him. The angry red imprint stood out starkly against her green skin, a damning testament to his accidental violence. The bruise was beginning to form, a dark shadow marring her delicate features. Shame and self-loathing crashed over Mikhail in waves, each one threatening to drown him. He felt a surge of anger directed at himself, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as he struggled to maintain his composure. But he squashed it and pushed it to the back of his mind. He couldn’t focus on that right now.

Mikhail opened his mouth to speak, but found his voice caught in his throat. What could he possibly say to fix this? Drawing on every ounce of courage he possessed, Mikhail took a shaky breath and began to speak. "Anora," he began, his voice weak and trembling. "I'm sorry." The words felt inadequate, hollow even to his own ears, but they were all he could muster in that moment. They hung in the air between them, a fragile offering in the face of the pain he had caused.

He reached out, his hand moving towards her face with the intention of gently caressing the cheek he had struck. His fingers trembled slightly, reflecting the turmoil in his heart. But Anora flinched, jerking away from his touch as if his hand were a venomous snake.

"Leave me alone," Anora said, her voice raw with emotion. The words seemed to echo in the quiet forest, each repetition a fresh wound to Mikhail's heart. "You're just like the rest of them."

Mikhail felt as if he'd been struck, the air leaving his lungs in a rush. The pain in his chest intensified at her words, a cold dread settling in the pit of his stomach. "Who?" he asked, dreading the answer but needing to understand. His voice was barely above a whisper, fear making it difficult to speak.

Anora's reply was quiet but cutting, each word a dagger to Mikhail's soul. "The other men."

Silence fell between them, heavy with implication. The gentle sounds of the forest - the rustling leaves, the distant call of a night bird - seemed to fade away, leaving only the thunderous beating of Mikhail's heart. Mikhail looked around at the trees

as they swayed in the moonlight.

After a long moment, he tentatively placed his hand on her back again, beginning to rub in slow, soothing circles. The fabric of her dress was soft beneath his palm, a stark contrast to the tension in her muscles. Mikhail's touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if he were trying to convey all his remorse and love through this simple gesture.

Anora tried to shrug off his touch once more, her body rigid with hurt and anger. But this time Mikhail persisted, his hand maintaining gentle contact. He knew he was taking a risk, that he might be pushing too far, but he figured that he had to keep trying.

"You're wrong," he said softly but firmly. His voice carried a quiet determination, a promise woven into the words. "I'm not like them, Anora."

Mikhail continued the gentle motion, hoping that through this simple act of comfort, he could begin to prove the sincerity in his words.

"I know I've hurt you," he continued, his voice low and earnest. "And I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if I have to. But please, Anora, please believe me when I say that I would never intentionally harm you. What happened... it was an accident, a terrible mistake that I'll regret for the rest of my days."

He paused, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. The night air felt cool against his skin, a gentle reminder of the world beyond this moment of raw emotion. "I love you, Anora," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I love you, and I'm so, so sorry for hurting you. I understand if you can't forgive me right now, but I'm not giving up on us. I'll prove to you, every day if I have to, that I'm not like those other men. That you can trust me, that you're safe with me."

Mikhail watched waiting for her to respond but after a moment she only stayed still. He tried again but this time he dug deeper, figuring out why he had thought of that memory of his parents arguing. "You know,” he began. “My mother and father used to argue a lot when I was growing up," he said, the words coming slowly, as if each one carried the weight of painful memories. "I've seen my father hit her before, and I hated it."

He paused, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "I've always told myself that I would never do that to a woman."

Anora turned to look at him, her expression softening slightly though the hurt still lingered in her orange eyes. The moonlight caught the unshed tears there, making them glimmer like distant stars. Her gaze was intense, searching, as if trying to read the truth of his words in his face.

Mikhail met her gaze unflinchingly, his blue eyes filled with remorse and a determination to be honest, no matter how difficult. "It seems that I have broken that promise," he said, his voice thick with emotion. The admission seemed to physically pain him, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his guilt. "Anora, I am truly sorry for hitting you. Even if it wasn't on purpose, it shouldn't have happened." He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly before he asked, "Can you forgive me?"

They stared at each other for a quiet moment, the gentle sound of the nearby stream filling the silence between them. The world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for Anora's response. Finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, yet it carried clearly in the still night air. "I already have," she said, the words a balm to Mikhail's wounded soul. "I know you didn't mean to do it. It looked like you were trapped in some kind of nightmare or vision. When you woke up so suddenly, I just happened to be too close. It was an accident, really."

She reached for a small pebble, turning it over in her hands as she continued. The repetitive motion seemed to calm her, giving her the strength to keep speaking. "The slap... it reminded me of what used to happen to me."

Mikhail's heart clenched at her words, a mixture of relief at her forgiveness and dread at what she might reveal next. "Really? Will you tell me about it?" he asked gently, his voice was soft, encouraging.

Anora sucked in a sob, her small frame shuddering with the effort of containing her emotions. The sound was heart-wrenching, a physical manifestation of the pain she had been carrying for so long. "When you found me, saved me from those men, the bandits... it seemed like a dream," she said, her voice trembling like a leaf in the wind. She tossed the pebble into the stream with a soft plop, the ripples spreading outward, much like the impact of her words. She laid her head back on her knees, her posture defensive, as if trying to protect herself from the memories.

Mikhail waited patiently, giving her the time she needed to continue. The weight of her unspoken past hung heavy in the air between them, and he knew that whatever she was about to share would change things between them. He would know her more deeply.

The gentle babbling of the stream and the soft rustling of leaves in the ancient trees of Aur'Thala seemed to fade away as Anora began to speak again. Her voice, barely above a whisper, carried the weight of years of pain and suffering.

"I... I haven't been treated well growing up," she began, her words hesitant, as if each one was a struggle to voice. "Being a half goblin in a village of full-blooded goblins can be a hard life."

Mikhail scooted closer to Anora, carefully dipping his feet into the cool water of the stream. The sudden chill sent a shiver up his spine, but he barely noticed, his attention entirely focused on Anora. She glanced at him, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of green as she noticed his bare chest. His lean, muscular build momentarily distracting her, a fleeting reminder of the physical attraction between them. But she quickly refocused as Mikhail gently urged, "Go on, I'm listening. I promise."

Anora took a deep breath, the air seeming to catch in her lungs before she continued. "I was raised in an underground village close to where you found me. My mother is a full-blooded goblin and my father is a human. I'm not sure who he is." She huffed, a hint of bitterness creeping into her voice. "Nor do I care. He never did."

As Anora spoke, recounting years of cruelty at the hands of the other goblins, Mikhail felt a growing sense of horror and anger. She described the relentless bullying, the hurtful names they'd call her - "half-blood" and worse slurs that made Mikhail's blood boil. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles turning white with the effort of containing his rage.

Anora paused, fresh tears streaming down her face, leaving glistening trails in the moonlight. Mikhail remained silent, his jaw clenched tight, allowing her the space to continue at her own pace. The weight of her words hung heavy in the air between them, each revelation another blow to Mikhail's heart.

"As I got older, the males started to do..." she hesitated, her voice breaking. "Things to me. The same things that those bandits wanted to do." Her orange eyes met Mikhail's, filled with pain and vulnerability that seemed to pierce straight through him. “They would touch me and force themselves on me, beating me the whole time.” A sob racked her. “But I got away from them. One night one of the males tried to take me again.., but I stabbed him with a knife and ran away to the surface.” Shocked and angered by her revelations, Mikhail wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close to his chest. He held her as she cried, his heart breaking for the years of abuse and rejection she had endured. His skin burned where it touched hers, not with desire, but with a fierce protectiveness that surprised him with its intensity. It felt like the event with his sister all over again.

After a few minutes, Anora's sobs subsided enough for her to continue. "That was three years ago, I couldn't take it any longer and decided to run away to the surface. Better to die there than live alone in that damned village as a tool for them to push around." Her voice flared with anger at the end, a glimpse of the strength that had allowed her to survive such hardships. The sudden fire in her words was a stark contrast to her earlier vulnerability, reminding Mikhail of the complex, resilient woman he had fallen in love with.

Mikhail tightened his embrace, struggling to find words that could comfort her after such a painful confession. The weight of her past hung heavy between them, and he realized that his actions, though unintentional, had reopened deep wounds. He felt a renewed sense of guilt, but also a fierce determination to prove to Anora that she was safe with him, that he would never intentionally cause her harm.

"Anora," he began, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I... I can't even begin to imagine what you've been through. What was done to you... it's unforgivable." He swallowed hard, fighting against the lump in his throat. "But I want you to know that you're safe now. With me, you'll always be safe."

He gently cupped her face in his hands, tilting her head up so their eyes met. In the soft moonlight, he could see the pain, fear, and hope swirling in her orange eyes. "I love you, Anora. All of you. Your past doesn't change that. If anything, knowing what you've overcome only makes me love you more."

“Even if I'm broken?” She asked, a tear streaking down her cheek. Mikhail wiped the tear from it. “I’ll just have to put you back together.” A small smile played across her lips. Mikhail leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers. "I promise you, I will spend every day proving to you that you are loved, that you are worthy, that you are beautiful just as you are. Half goblin, half human - it doesn't matter to me. You're Anora, and that's all that matters."

He then pressed his lips against hers, kissing her passionately and hoping that she could feel all of his feelings for her in the kiss. To his surprise Anora pushed into the kiss as he caressed her unbruised cheek. “By Aran I've fallen for this girl.” He thought to himself. Something that he didn’t hate a bit. Soon their kiss became more than one, quickly turning into a series of long kisses that spoke of longing and desire.

Mikhail could feel Anora’s hands rub his bare chest as he gently laid her down upon the stone. His hands started running up her thighs.Her skin was so smooth. Soon the bottom of her dress came up but as Mikhail took his place over her Anora broke the kiss with a scared look on her face. “What’s wrong?” Mikhail asked, confused and still excited.

Anora looked him in the eyes. “I..I can’t.” she said. “Not yet Mikhail.”

Mikhail looked about for a second then seemed to understand. He pushed himself up off of her and sat up. Running his hand through his blonde hair. “I’m sorry.” Anora said.

"No, no, it's ok. I get it, Anora. I can wait until you're ready," Mikhail said softly, his blue eyes meeting her orange ones. In that gaze, a silent understanding passed between them, a promise of patience and trust.

Mikhail rose to his feet, stretching out his hand to Anora. She hesitated for just a moment before placing her small green hand in his. With gentle strength, he pulled her up, their bodies close in the moonlight.

"Come on," he said, his voice warm with affection. "Kaelith and Calista are probably worried about us."

Hand in hand, they turned back towards the Moonwell. Anora took the lead, her superior night vision guiding them through the shadowy ruins. Mikhail followed, trusting her completely.

As they walked, the weight of their conversation hung in the air between them. But it wasn't a burden; rather, it felt like the first tentative threads of a deeper bond being woven.

The night air was cool against their skin, carrying the scent of ancient stone and new beginnings. Above them, the stars twinkled in the vast expanse of the sky, silent witnesses to the tender moment unfolding below.

The soft glow of the Moonwell began to peek through the trees, beckoning them back to the others. But for Mikhail and Anora, the real magic of the night was in the warmth of their joined hands and the unspoken promise of tomorrow.