Sunlight spilled across the rugs, warming the morning air.

Kane stretched his scarred arms, enjoying the satisfying ache of a drained stamina bar.

Tangled amidst the silk sheets, Thora rested her chin on his right bicep.

Her bare skin glowed in the ambient light, chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.

Tucked securely under his left arm, Seraphine slept with her face pressed against his ribs, her silver hair splayed across his torso like a fallen banner.

’I reckon a man could easily get used to waking up like this,’ Kane evaluated, his blood finally running cool and settled after the night’s marathon.

’But sitting still breeds rust. I should let them recover.’

"You are thinking too loud," Thora murmured.

Hazel eyes fluttered open.

She dragged a lazy, highly appreciative gaze down his exposed torso, shifting her bare thigh smoothly over his shin.

The friction of her warm skin against his sent a spark through his nerves.

"Plotting a second round, Chief?" Thora whispered, her voice raspy from sleep.

"Because my hips are asking for a temporary ceasefire."

"Just plotting the next coordinate," Kane replied softly.

Turning his head, he stole an unhurried kiss from her lips.

Thora smiled into the contact, tasting of sleep and leftover vintage.

She pressed her ample curves against his side, unapologetic in her morning affection.

Movement rippled against his left flank.

Seraphine shifted, letting out a soft sigh.

Opening her silver eyes, the former paladin didn’t scramble for her clothing or offer a panicked morning prayer to the Goddess.

The rigid priestess who boarded his ship days ago was gone.

She simply tilted her chin up, resting her pale hand flat against his heart.

"You survived your first night in the Bloodfang ranks, First Blade," Thora teased.

She bumped her hip playfully against Seraphine’s beneath the sheets.

"Any lingering regrets about trading the temple for the mud?"

"Only that I waited twenty years to drop my armor," Seraphine answered.

Leaning up, she captured Kane’s mouth.

It wasn’t a quick peck.

It was a devoted kiss that carried the lingering spice of Elven wine.

Her tongue slid past his teeth, testing his restraint with a hungry rhythm.

Kane let his fingers tangle into her silver hair, tilting her head to deepen the angle.

He kissed her back with a dominant heat, feeling her pulse hammer against his chest.

Seraphine let out a needy whimper, pressing her bare breasts flush against his torso until her lungs burned and she broke away with a ragged, satisfied sigh.

"What are your orders today, Warlord?" Seraphine whispered, tracing the line of his jaw with her fingertip.

"Rest your muscles," Kane instructed.

He swung his legs over the edge of the mattress and pulled on a clean pair of linen trousers.

"I need to check on our oracle. We march south before the tide turns."

Thora rolled onto her back, stretching luxuriously and putting her impressive physique on full display.

"Bring back food. Real meat, not those tiny Elven leaf-wraps. I burned a lot of calories screaming your name."

"I will find you a boar," Kane grinned, buckling his sword belt.

Morning sea breeze swept through the lower courtyard of the Elven manor.

Kane walked out onto the stone patio, listening to the distant sounds of Bloodfang warriors repairing their ships.

He found Princess Misha sitting on a carved stone bench near the blooming rose bushes.

Grieselda stood a few paces away, keeping a silent, watchful perimeter.

The angelic woman gave Kane a single, knowing nod as he approached.

The frail Milfheim girl looked vastly different under the sunlight.

Her skin held a healthy, flushed tone.

The striking rings of seraphic gold in her eyes tracked a flock of gulls circling the blue bay.

Stepping up to the bench, Kane didn’t offer a formal bow.

He sat down right beside her, resting his elbows on his knees, treating her like a war council member rather than royalty.

"How does the new core feel?" Kane asked directly.

Misha turned her head.

She didn’t shrink away from his proximity.

Reaching out with her small fingers, she traced the edge of a faded scar on his forearm. Her touch was warm, pulsing with quiet energy.

"It hums," Misha answered.

Her voice retained that eerie, dual-tone seraphic layer, yet the cadence felt human and grounded.

"I am no longer freezing, husband. For the first time in my life, my chest does not hurt."

"Good," Kane nodded.

His eyes scanned her relaxed posture, looking for any hidden strain.

"Do you miss the Goddess? Losing your holy connection usually breaks a paladin’s mind."

"The Celestial Mother demanded silence and perfection," Misha stated calmly.

Her golden pupils locked onto his face, carrying wisdom far beyond her years.

"When I broke, she discarded me. You demand victory, and you reforge broken things into weapons. I prefer your rules."

’She’s adapting fast,’ Kane reckoned, a surge of respect hitting his ribs.

’No tears. Just tactical recalculation. Grieselda built a predator.’

"Then tell me what you see down south," Kane instructed, leaning forward.

"Let us test your new eyes."

A blue projection sparked into existence directly between them.

It formed a translucent, highly detailed topographical map of the southern continent, hovering right over the rose bushes.

[Skill Shared: Seraphic Cartography]

[Host: Princess Misha | Target: Kane]

"The Menual Emperor knows his ironclads are gone," Misha explained.

She pointed a pale finger at the blue projection, highlighting a wide river basin near the coast.

"He is panicking. He parked sixty line-breaker ships across the primary river delta, forming a barricade. Behind that, he amassed four hundred armored war elephants."

Kane studied the terrain, tracking the enemy formations with a veteran’s gaze.

"He expects us to sail straight up the middle and ram his blockade."

"Yes," Misha agreed, her dual-tone voice unwavering.

"But the western tributary is unguarded. He believes the water there is too shallow for your black galleons to navigate."

Kane rubbed his jaw, staring at the blue lines representing the river depth.

’Ten feet of clearance. Our galleons draw fifteen. We would beach ourselves on the sandbars before we traveled a single mile.’

A grin spread across his face as a reckless solution crystallized in his mind.

He stood up, placing an approving hand on Misha’s shoulder.

"I figure we can fix the depth," Kane rumbled, looking out toward the churning ocean.