Chapter 38 Mist of Desire

The moon hung high over the kingdom, veiled behind clouds that swirled like ink in water. The night held a stillness that felt wrong—as though the city held its breath.

The guards at the outer gate leaned lazily on their spears, boots scuffing stone as they muttered about nothing important. One scratched his neck. The other yawned and peered out toward the dark hillside. They didn’t see it at first. Didn’t hear it. Didn’t feel the temperature shift or the way the breeze stilled. But something was coming. Something quiet. Intentional.

The mist arrived like a secret.

It rolled down the hills in delicate waves, not with the weight of fog or storm, but with purpose. Like a snake gliding over smooth stone. Its edges shimmered faintly in the moonlight, curling and coiling, weaving between blades of grass and crumbled stones. By the time one of the guards turned his head, the mist had already reached his boots. And when it slithered beneath his armor and into his thoughts, he barely managed to blink.

It wasn’t a poison. It wasn’t rage.

It was want.

The kind that whispers. That slides in when you’re tired. When you’ve forgotten who you are for just long enough.

It passed through cracks in old wood, slithered beneath doors and behind shutters. It coiled up staircase banisters and into bedsheets, slipping inside dreams with gentle fingers. And everywhere it passed, hearts ached. Not from pain—but from yearning.

One of the guards tried to speak, tried to raise an alarm, but the mist had already wrapped itself around his thoughts. He felt warm. Safe. His eyes went glassy. He forgot what he was trying to say.

The mist moved on.

It snuck into the city’s taverns and curled around sleeping patrons like a lover. In mansions and brothels alike, it wove into the dreams of nobles and merchants and servants—drawing out memories, hunger, grief. It whispered of closeness, of flesh, of things once known and long denied.

But not all doors opened.

When the mist came upon the Adventurers’ Guild, its progress halted.

Carved into the very stone were protective runes—ancient sigils lit by a slow, steady pulse of divine intention. They glowed faintly in the presence of the intruder, and the mist recoiled. It hissed, as though burned. That place was sealed to it.

But the city was full of cracks. And Kai’s home—tucked into the edge of the city like a memory someone forgot to bury—was still vulnerable.

It found another way.

Through the cracks in the door. Through the joints in the stonework. Under the threshold and along the baseboards. The mist slid into Kai’s home with an almost reverent grace. Like it already knew what it would find.

And in the quiet of the girls’ rooms, it began to whisper.

---

Skye stirred first.

Her dreams had been warm—a clearing beneath stars, soft blankets on grass, the scent of moss and firewood. She was tracking game, laughing quietly. Then her hand brushed another’s, strong and sure. Kai’s voice reached her like a low breeze, and suddenly her dream twisted. His hands were on her hips, his lips near her throat. She gasped, clutched her pillow, whispered his name.

She rose from bed, feet moving before her mind could catch up.

---

Fara’s dreams were different.

She remembered pain. Kai’s voice speaking her name as he treated her wounds. His steady hands, his soft encouragement, the way he never looked away when she trembled. In her sleep, her breath hitched. Her heartbeat quickened. The mist fed on the aching need to be seen, to be held—not as a warrior or a vessel of power, but as someone real. Someone breakable.

She crossed the hall in silence.

---

Revoli giggled in her sleep.

She had been dreaming of fireworks and running barefoot through shallow streams. She turned, tail flicking lazily, and then her dream shifted. She saw Kai smiling at her, leaning close. Her cheeks flushed. Her eyes fluttered open. And when she felt the pull in her chest, she didn’t hesitate.

She bounded from her bed with a grin.

---

All three moved toward one room.

---

Kai sat upright in bed, his breath already shallow. The dream—the woman, the broken mirrors, her name—still clung to him like smoke. But now, something else stirred. Not just memory. Something here.

He blinked and saw it.

Mist.

Thin tendrils coiled along the floor, nearly invisible, but not entirely. It shimmered faintly with a warmth he didn’t trust.

Then—soft footsteps.

The door creaked.

Skye stood there in the dim light, her hair tousled, her cheeks tinged with red. Her eyes didn’t quite focus. “Kai…” she whispered, voice trembling. “Can I stay with you tonight?”

His mouth opened, but no sound came.

Fara appeared behind her, leaning against the doorframe, one hand brushing her neck. Her expression unreadable, pupils slightly dilated. “I had a nightmare,” she said. “Or… maybe it was a dream. I don’t know anymore.”

And then—Revoli.

She practically tumbled in, laughing breathlessly, her energy electric. “You’re too lonely in here,” she teased, crawling onto the edge of the bed. “We should fix that.”

All three of them—drawn not just by desire, but something deeper. Something missing.

The mist thickened.

And suddenly, Kai could feel it.

Desire, yes—but distorted. Amplified. Shaped by longing, shame, exhaustion. Skye’s fingers trembled. Fara's calm exterior cracked at the corners. Revoli’s usual bravado came with an undercurrent of desperation.

His heart twisted.

“This isn’t them,” he muttered. “This is something else. Something wrong.”

But it was inside him, too. He wasn’t immune. The ache in his chest reminded him of nights spent curled cold on the floor, of being untouched for so long he forgot what closeness felt like. His wife’s cold back. The way silence stretched between them until it became normal.

Kai clenched his jaw and stood.

The girls startled, blinking. Skye stepped back. Fara froze. Revoli bit her lip, confused.

“No,” he said. “Not like this. You don’t want this. I don’t want this.”

He knelt and pressed his palm flat against the floor. The mist curled around it, resisting.

But then—his focus sharpened. Not into magic, but something just as strong.

Intention.

Belief.

A kind of truth that could not be bent.

From his hand, a faint glow emerged. Soft, golden. And the mist recoiled, not in fear, but recognition.

This wasn’t magic.

This was will.

Kai pushed outward. Not with force, but with meaning. He poured his thoughts into the act—his protection, his care, his refusal to violate what mattered. The mist pulled back. Slowly. Reluctantly. It hissed and twitched and then… began to retreat.

And as it thinned, the fog in the girls’ eyes faded.

Skye blinked hard. “Wh… what am I doing here?”

Fara looked at her own hands, breathing unevenly. “Something was pulling me.”

Revoli sat down on the floor, cheeks flushed, expression soft. “I… I don’t know why I came.”

Kai didn’t blame them. Didn’t judge.

He stepped between them. He placed a hand on each of their shoulders. Warm. Solid. Steady.

“It wasn’t you,” he said, voice low. “Go get some rest. I’ll keep watch.”

And they listened.

They slipped back into their rooms without another word, no shame, no scolding. Just quiet understanding.

Outside, the mist slithered away through alleys and broken streets.

And somewhere in the shadows beyond the city walls, something unseen smiled.

Malrissa wasn’t done.

Not yet.