""I hate, no, I absolutely loathe Grak," she spat the name like a curse. "But according to tribal laws, I can’t do anything. He is a hunter. He brings meat. He has the right to claim whatever woman he wants in the tribe if her father agrees. But..."
She lifted her head, her silver eyes locking onto Sol’s with a fierce, unwavering intensity that burned through the shadows.
"...since you suddenly showed up that night and shouted him to go away, and then claimed me fully... I was happy. Really happy. And even though it hurt a bit... it was also very enjoyable."
"I loved it," she whispered, a tear tracking through the dust on her cheek. "Please... don’t apologize for saving me."
Sol let out a long breath he didn’t know he was holding. The tension left his body, replaced by a profound sense of relief and connection. He wrapped his arms tighter around her, kissing the top of her head.
He hadn’t broken her. He had forged her.
"I won’t," he whispered into her hair. "Rest now, Nia. You’re safe."
"Grak," Sol tested the name on his tongue. It tasted like a target.
He realized now that his power... this Ash Gray influence.. wasn’t just a tool for pleasure. It was a weapon against the rigid, brutal hierarchy of this world. Grak had used the law of the tribe to cage her. Sol had used the law of nature... the dominance of the stronger will... to set her free.
"He won’t touch you again," Sol promised, his voice low and dangerous. "I doubt he’ll ever return again."
He thought deeply, calculating the potency of his command. If he told the man to "get the hell out of here," and the man had truly obeyed the rewritten reality... "If he could return, he should have returned by now. But he didn’t."
Even though Nia didn’t fully understand his words or the source of his certainty, she still looked at him, hope warring with fear in her eyes.
"He is strong, Sol," she warned him, her grip tightening. "He is one of the best spear-throwers. If he comes back..."
"Well, for that he has to first return," Sol smirked, the arrogance returning to his expression. "And strength isn’t just about throwing sticks. Who said that I am weaker than him?" he said as he felt the Ash Gray energy pulsing fervently in his chest, circulating through his limbs, constantly repairing and strengthening the fibers of his being.
Nia looked at his weird confidence confusedly, but looking at the fire in his eyes, she chose to believe him. She hummed in approval, resting her head against him.
"You’ll see," he added softly.
He slowly disentangled himself from her, though he kept one hand on her waist.
"We should go back," he said gently. "The pot won’t stir itself, and you need to eat. You’ve lost a lot of... energy."
Nia blushed, glancing down at her disheveled state, but she didn’t look ashamed. She looked like a woman who had just been crowned queen. She adjusted her wrap, tying it tighter this time, but leaving the top slightly loose... a subconscious signal of availability that was meant only for him.
"I will come to the stall later," she said, finding her footing.
"Good," Sol said.
He watched her walk out of the tall grass first. Her step was lighter. Her head was held high. She wasn’t the trembling victim who had entered the clearing; she was a woman who knew exactly who she belonged to.
Sol waited a moment, letting the cool air dry the sweat on his skin. He looked at the massive tree, at the patch of flattened grass where they had just let themselves go.
He picked up the empty water skins from the base of the tree, swinging them casually over his shoulder. He felt like a titan. He had just conquered a woman, defied a hunter (in spirit), and established his dominance over the local food chain.
"Grak," he whispered again to the darkness, testing the weight of the name. He didn’t know who this hunter was yet, but he knew one thing: Grak was going to be very unhappy when he realized his prize had been stolen right from under his nose. And Sol was going to enjoy every second of it.
He turned and began to stride back toward the village square, his chest puffed out, his gait loose and confident. The Soup Merchant had a business to run, and now, he had a woman to protect. To do that, he had to get stronger. He had to cultivate. He had to—
Sol froze mid-step.
He looked down at the water skins bouncing lightly against his hip.
They were flat. They were dry. They were completely, undeniably empty.
His brain did a slow, painful rewind.
"Take over," Sol said... "I need to fetch more water from the reserve."
He had told Liora... and the entire queue of gossip-hungry villagers... that he was leaving to get water. If he walked back into the square now, looking disheveled, smelling of sex, and carrying two bone-dry water skins, even Liora wouldn’t be naive enough to buy it. Veyra would eat him alive.
"Oh, shit," Sol whispered, his "Apex Predator" aura popping like a soap bubble.
He checked the sky. He had been gone for a while. The pot was probably getting thick. Liora was probably scraping the bottom.
"Shit, shit, shit!"
He spun on his heel, his dignified walk vanishing instantly. He didn’t stride; he bolted.
For the second time that day, Sol found himself sprinting through the wilderness, not running away from a monster, but running toward a chore. He tore down the path toward the stream, his sandals slapping against the dirt, the empty skins flapping behind him like the cape of the world’s worst superhero.
"I am the master of reality!" he panted, vaulting a root. "I am the lord of—oof—flavor! I am... going to be late!"
*****
A/N: I know you guys will definitely send some gifts, that’s why I had already uploaded advanced Chapters, so, as to not stop at a bad cliffhanger.
So, enjoy and don’t forget my castle.