Hours.

Literally hours, and Sarael still hadn’t stopped kissing him or disappeared entirely. If it wasn’t for Ronan’s newfound stats, he probably would have been aching from her weight on top of him by now.

Was it because he’d told her he wouldn’t push her away anymore? Or because he’d said he found her beautiful? There was no obvious answer when it came to Sarael.

So Ronan just decided to let her keep doing what she wanted. He didn’t mind, after all.

Her lips trailed from his mouth to his jaw, then down the side of his neck in a slow, worshipful path. She was memorizing the texture of his skin, the salt of his sweat, the faint tremor of his pulse beneath her mouth.

"You’re so warm," she murmured against his throat. "I forgot how warm living things are."

Ronan’s hands were still on her hips, his fingers pressing into the shifting darkness that wrapped around her body. It didn’t feel like fabric. It felt like cool silk and static electricity.

"Sarael... how long?"

Ronan’s voice came out rougher than he intended. She paused, her head still resting against his shoulder, and looked up at him through half-lidded eyes.

"D-Do you want me to stop?"

"Do you want to stop?"

She held his gaze for a long moment, then shook her head and pressed her lips back to his throat, trailing slow kisses along his pulse. Given that she’d waited centuries, maybe she had all the time in the world now.

It made him wonder.

Back in the shrine, when he’d passed out after the bond, had she held him like this the whole time? Kissed his neck and whispered his name while he lay unconscious and dreaming?

The thought should have unsettled him. A goddess using his sleep as an invitation, his helplessness as permission.

But it didn’t.

Maybe it was the fact that something powerful watching over him in a world that wanted him dead felt like a shield.

Whatever the reason, the image settled in his mind with an unexpected weight, a strange living blanket with violet eyes and centuries of loneliness, keeping guard while he rested.

A God that could incinerate anything that dared to ambush him while he was resting.

"Okay..." Sarael pulled back at last, a thin strand of saliva bridging from his neck to her lower lip. Her eyes were glazed, adoring, and utterly unashamed. "I think I’m done now."

"Really? You sure?"

"Mhm." She nodded, still catching her breath. "I love you, Ronan. That means getting you out of here. So I’m willing to stop... for now."

"And you?" He studied her face, searching for the telltale flicker that usually preceded one of her vanishings. "Are you going to disappear again?"

"N-No." She shook her head, a fragile smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Not anymore. You think I’m beautiful. You said you won’t push me away." Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring herself to him. "I don’t need to run anymore."

The darkness around Sarael hardened, the living shadows that had clothed her condensing into something more defined. Not revealing, exactly, but not modest either. Just enough to cover what needed covering.

"Clothes," Ronan observed. "You’re wearing clothes now."

"Do you prefer me naked?" She asked it without a trace of teasing, her head tilted, genuinely ready to strip if he said the word.

"No. Clothes are good." He cleared his throat. "So does this mean you’ll be coming with me? Adventuring, exploring, whatever we’re calling it?"

"Y-Yes." She nodded quickly, relief bleeding into her voice. "Now that I know you won’t push me away for being too... clingy."

Her fingers fidgeted at her sides. "But if I get annoying, you can still tell me to—"

"You’re fine." Ronan cut her off before she could finish the thought. "I’d rather have you here. Company’s better than talking to a skitter."

[Intimacy Level: 2]

[Level Cap: 14 -> 30]

Sarael’s eyes flickered at the mention of the skitter, a brief narrowing that Ronan barely caught before it smoothed back into adoration.

"The shadow creatures," she said, her tone carefully neutral. "Do you like them?"

"They’re useful."

Ronan shrugged, still processing the system notification. Level cap raised to thirty. That gave him room to grow, room to stack more stats before he even thought about the lit city.

"The skitter carried me halfway across the deadlands. Saved my life a few times."

"I could carry you."

Ronan blinked. "What?"

"If you need something to ride." Her cheeks flushed faintly red. "I’m stronger than a skitter. I could carry you anywhere you wanted to go. You wouldn’t need them anymore."

"I’m not going to discard my summons just because you’re here now."

Her expression flickered. For a split second, something dark moved behind her eyes, and Ronan felt that familiar pressure ghost across his throat. Then it was gone, replaced by a smile that was only slightly too wide.

"Of course. I understand. They’re your tools. Your weapons." She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I’m your wife. That’s different."

He stood up, offering her his hand. Sarael stared at it for a moment, then placed her palm in his with the reverence of someone accepting a sacred object.

Her fingers were cool against his skin, but they tightened with that familiar desperate grip, like she was afraid he’d dissolve if she didn’t hold on hard enough.

"So... are we going to start killing monsters?"

"That’s the plan. Unless you know something about that lit city."

Sarael’s expression flickered. Her fingers, still curled into his shirt, tightened briefly before relaxing.

"No... unfortunately, I don’t know anything about it. I’m... not as strong as I used to be." She hesitated, her violet eyes searching his face. "Is that a problem?"

"No. It isn’t." Ronan met her gaze and held it. "And give yourself more credit. It doesn’t matter that you’re not omnipotent. As long as you’re useful and competent, you’re good."

Sarael went very still.

Then her eyes brightened with an intensity that made Ronan immediately regret his word choice.

"Then... can I be as needy as I want? As long as I’m useful?"

’Really? That’s what she took from that?’

"Yeah... sure."