The room was too warm.
Not because of the flickering lanterns or the stone walls laced with heat-conducting runes—but because Nyxia woke tangled in silk sheets with a sheen of sweat along her spine. Her muscles ached—not in the sharp, electric way they had days ago, but with the slow, smoldering heat of healing. Her hair clung damply to her cheek. The scent of jasmine still lingered in the pillows, along with something smokier and spiced—perfume from one of Boo's attendants, most likely.
She sat up, blinking slowly, as if surfacing from a half-drowned dream. The room was still dim, but the glowstones had shifted their hue. Morning in Serath'Kai, such as it was—a simulation of dawn filtered through neon pulse.
A folded note had been left on the low table beside the divan.
So had a swimsuit.
Tight. Black. Trimmed in crimson lace that looked hand-stitched by someone who knew exactly where eyes lingered. It barely qualified as clothing—a halter-top held together with thin bands across the back, and matching bottoms that rode dangerously low. The fabric shimmered faintly, catching light like liquid ink.
Pinned to it was a scrap of velum.
From Boo, with love. <3 Thought this might help you 'shop smart.' Try not to get arrested. Or do. I'm not your mom.
Nyxia groaned, dragging both hands down her face. "Of course."
She slid from the bed and crossed to the basin, splashing her face with water that smelled faintly of crushed mint. Loque stirred from his coil at the foot of the divan, letting out a soft chuff. Perseus was gone, probably fetching supplies—or cooling down.
Her armor—cracked, scarred, and soaked in memory—lay in a heap nearby. It was more relic than protection now. She stared at it for a long beat, the way someone might look at an old lover's grave.
Then she turned away.
With a resigned sigh, she slipped into the swimsuit. It clung like a second skin—revealing, hugging, unapologetically sensual. The robe went over it, but barely. It refused to stay on one shoulder, and every movement felt like temptation with teeth.
By the time Perseus returned with two mugs of spiced tea, his mouth actually fell open.
He stopped in the doorway, froze.
His ears flushed deep crimson. "You're… not wearing armor."
"I noticed."
"Is that from—?"
"She left a note. With a heart and a kiss mark."
He coughed. "You're not seriously going out like that?"
"We need armor. I need armor. I can't wear this forever." She stepped past him, the silk brushing his arm. Her scent lingered—wildflower smoke, sweat, and something uniquely her. "Unless you plan on loaning me yours."
"Nyxia, you can't—"
"I can. I am."
She tugged on her boots, left the rest of her gear behind, and tossed the note onto his lap. "Don't pout. It's just skin."
Perseus looked like he might combust.
They stepped into the hazy light of Serath'Kai's mid-tier market, the neon glare slicing through the illusion of dawn.
Heads turned.
A nearby goblin dropped his wrench and muttered "By the Titans…" A trio of elven mercenaries walked straight into a light post. One human man tripped over his own feet and crashed into a fruit stand.
Nyxia walked like she hadn't noticed—or maybe she had, and just didn't care. Every step was confidence made flesh.
A troll whistled low. "Where you goin', pretty fang?"
"Shopping," she said without looking.
"Need a bodyguard?" a dwarven engineer offered, nudging his goggles up. "Or a dinner date?"
Perseus walked a half-step behind her, expression coiled tight. "You're enjoying this."
"A little," she admitted with a small, wicked smirk.
The upper markets of Serath'Kai were chaos incarnate, even at this hour. Lamps flickered like mock-sunrise, casting garish color across wet stone. Fan-driven breezes sent paper scraps and advert drones tumbling through the air.
One vendor trailed after her with a tray of glittery trinkets, muttering, "You'd make a fortune modeling. I know a guy—real professional."
Nyxia glanced in his direction, but more than one vendor paused mid-pitch to ogle her legs.
Their first stop was a stall run by a four-eyed goblin in a patchwork coat.
"Shadowweaver's Mantle," he said, puffing up. "Built from salvaged spell-thread. Voidglass plating. Only twelve hundred crowns!"
"Pass."
Next was ZENNA'S GEAR FOR THE ELITE. The shopkeeper, a draenei in ceremonial armor, circled Nyxia like she was prey.
"Too slight for plate. But I've got dusk-thread weave. Flexible. Durable. Breathtaking."
"I bet," Nyxia said.
"We're not outfitting royalty," Perseus added dryly.
They left.
A stall smelled of brimstone and hissed when touched. Another offered living leather that breathed. A final vendor just leered.
"You'd look better without it."
Perseus nearly punched him.
Back in the slums, things were quieter. Heat clung to the stone. Neon vines buzzed, some flickering, others dead.
Nyxia was hot. Frustrated. Still underdressed.
A drunk orc stumbled past and said, "You look like a goddess, darlin'. You married?"
"She is," Perseus growled.
"To violence," Nyxia added.
A flickering billboard read: VESTMENTS FOR VIGILANTS – PAY IN BLOOD OR GOLD.
"Next time," she muttered, "I'm raiding a corpse."
They rounded a corner near Boo's den when a loud, tinny voice cut through the alley.
"Come one, come all! Test your skill, test your fate—win a BRAND NEW to-you set of armor!"
Perseus stopped. "Oh no."
A crowd had gathered around a makeshift stage. A goblin in a tailcoat stitched from rags held a megaphone attached to a drone.
"Got reflexes? Got guts? Step up, pay no fee, win something shiny!"
Behind him, a tarp-covered rack shimmered under arc-lamps.
Nyxia and Perseus exchanged a look.
"No."
"No," he echoed.
They walked toward it.
The goblin's eyes lit up. "A challenger! And a fierce one too—look how she walks, folks! Like she just murdered a duke and got away with it!"
"I might have," she said.
The crowd laughed.
"Name's Skivv. Step up, win the game, claim the prize."
Perseus frowned. "What's the catch?"
Skivv grinned. "No catch. Just skill. Reflexes. And the willingness to get a little wet."
Behind him, levers began to whir. The tarp pulled back.
Armor gleamed.
One set stood out—black-leather bodysuit. Shadowplates. Gleaming thigh armor. Dusksteel shine. On the chest: a glyph. A bloom of void and starfire.
Nyxia's breath hitched.
"That's mine," she said.
Skivv smirked.
"Then step up, sweetheart. And earn it."