Chapter 2 – The Cave in the Rain

1
The sky didn’t rain.
It committed assault.
By the time I hit the ridge, I looked like bread dough that lost a fight with a river.

“Perfect,” I muttered. “Go out for a few herbs to help Mum’s bakery, die as a soggy crouton.”

Thunder replied like it agreed. Wind shoved a waterfall down my collar for emphasis.

Then I heard it—a deep, hollow whistle through stone: Cave nearby! Free shelter, limited dignity! Sold.

I slid down the trail and ducked into the first dark mouth I found. Water marched off me in a small parade.

Still better than outside.

Something moved.

Not rock. Not shadow. Someone.

“Wait—!” a voice squeaked.

Too late. My betrayer eyes logged every detail in perfect, panic-inducing clarity.

She was half-turned, long dark hair plastered to her skin, pale shoulders bare. Her shirt—calling it a shirt was generous—clung like it had lost the will to live. A violet tail flicked once behind her, glossy in the cave’s light. And from her back—oh good, wings.

“Wh–what are you doing here?!” she yelped, grabbing the traitor shirt with both hands.

“I don’t know!” I blurted. “I was following survival instincts and poor luck!”

Her face went red. A quick spark glimmered at her temples; sleek black horns popped into existence and then—blink—vanished.

“Don’t look!”

“I’m not!” I said automatically. “I’m just memorising the cave structure!”

“You saw everything!”

“I missed the part where I didn’t walk in!”

Her wings half-flared before tucking away, tail thumping a rock with indignant percussion.

“Stop glowing!” she hissed at herself.

“I’m not glowing!”

“Not you—me!”

I spun to face the wall. “For the record, I’m now blind, ashamed, and possibly cursed.”

Rustling. Shuffling. Physics pleaded with fabric. Somewhere, dignity negotiated a ceasefire.

“Okay,” she said at last, voice fierce but shaky. “Turn around. Slowly. Like—painfully slowly.”

I rotated like a museum exhibit.

She stood by a boulder now, wrapped in an oversized shirt cinched at the waist. Her raven-black hair clung in damp strands against her neck, and her tail swayed behind her—unhidden, expressive, and completely unapologetic. Her horns and wings were glamoured away, but her deep midnight-purple eyes still tried to look intimidating… and failed adorably.

“You,” she declared, “owe me.”

“Blame the cave,” I said. “It should’ve come with a door.”

Her mouth twitched. The glare slid a little before she caught it.
“So it really was you,” she murmured — soft, almost relieved. Then she blinked, composure snapping back into place and her tone sharpening. “Ahem. Anyway. What are you?” She leaned closer and sniffed lightly, like a fox testing the air. “Human, right? You smell… normal.”

“I feel insulted and complimented at the same time,” I said. “Eron. Adventurer, herb-picker, part-time bakery financier.”

She gave me a quick once-over — dark brown eyes, a travel-toned build, and black hair with a few stubborn white strands. Then she immediately looked away, ears pink, tail flicking in betrayal.

“N-not that I was… evaluating you,” she muttered. “Just gathering data. Professionally.”

“Right,” I said. “Very professional sniffing.”

“B-be quiet,” she huffed. “And what’s this about a bakery?”

“Family business. Bread so good it gives buffs and emotional damage.”

Her lips fought a smile and lost. She exhaled once, softer this time.
“For the record… next time you wander into a girl’s dreams, say hello properly. It’s embarrassing talking to a stranger — even if he turns out real.”

“I blinked. “So you did recognise me.” The moment hung there, and I felt it too — that strange familiarity from the dream. I just didn’t know why I’d seen her, or what it meant yet.”

Ryn crossed her arms and looked away again, tail swishing. “Only because you crashed into my dream first. And don’t make it a habit. Or do. I won’t stop you.” She coughed, fluster gone in a flash as she forced a smug grin. “Ryn. Half-oni, half-succubus, full-time trouble. This was supposed to be a quiet job.”

2
The rain hissed at the cave mouth like a kettle giving opinions. Wind tried to wrench the world sideways.

Her rebellious shirt slid off one shoulder again like it had ambitions. She yanked it up, glared at it, nearly set it on fire by willpower.

“There’s a rule,” she said, eyes narrowing.

“Of course there is,” I said. “There’s always a rule right before I regret breathing.”

“If a girl gets seen in a storm,” she intoned, solemn, “you have to take responsibility.”

“Right. Naturally. That’s—wait, what?”

“Take. Responsibility.” She pointed at me, then at a pile of damp kindling. “As in—make a fire, offer a towel, don’t be weird, look away if I say look away, and if danger shows up you don’t run first.”

I considered the wet wood, the colder air, the very dramatic shoulder situation, and the quiet tug waking under my ribs.

“Deal,” I said. Not because I had to. Because I chose to.

Something warm pulsed in my chest—like a candle lit behind my ribs.

Her pupils widened. “Did you—feel that?”

“Yeah.” I steadied my breath. “Like… a thread.”

She blinked, flustered; her tail wrapped her ankle, betrayed by emotion. “It’s… just an instinct flare. My kind does that when we’re—when the moment is—ugh. It’ll calm down.”

The warmth hovered, not binding, just there. Familiar. A bell rung at a distance.

3
I got a fire coaxed from damp twigs because Mum didn’t raise quitters. Ryn crouched near the flame, soaking heat like a cat who’d filed a complaint with the weather.

We ate: bread from home, a bit of jerky, one honey bun that still threw friendly sparkles. She tried to refuse. She absolutely failed.

“You really are a bakery financier,” she murmured. “It’s… warm.”

“Best food in town. Worst accountants alive. Mum discounts sad people, Dad forgets prices, my sister eats inventory and calls it ‘quality control.’”

Ryn smiled into the steam, softening. “Sounds wonderful.”

“I keep us afloat with herb money and occasional monster problems.”

Her eyes lifted, fond and dangerous at once. “That’s very… you.”

The storm downgraded from shouting to sulking. The cave looked less like an accident and more like a pause.

“So,” I said, “quiet job?”

Ryn groaned. “It was simple. Retrieve a lost charm for a seamstress in Southwick. But my paperwork is cursed, so obviously the ‘lost charm’ belonged to a smuggler who owed a captain who works for someone who smiles without his eyes.”

“Demon King’s network.”

“Apparently we’re pen pals.” She flicked a pebble with her tail. “I don’t hunt them on purpose. They just show up whenever I try to help.”

“Sounds familiar,” I said.

She cocked her head. “You?”

I folded the honey-bun paper. “I get dreams sometimes. Warnings that feel… true. I figure if even one is real, I can’t ignore it.”

Ryn watched me for a long second, humor dimming to something sincere. “You ran into a storm because you’re the kind of man who can’t ignore things.”

“Because people matter,” I said simply. The tug under my ribs hummed in agreement.

4
A gust pushed rain deeper into the cave. Ryn slid closer to shield the flame with her body, which was heroic and also hazardous for my ability to form sentences.

She reached past me for the pack; our fingers brushed.

Spark.
The faint warmth flared—bright, soft, gone—like two heartbeats decided to clap at the same time.

Ryn flinched, then glared at her own tail as if it had started this. “That was not on purpose.”

“I know,” I said, cheeks hotter than the fire. “It felt… familiar. Like I’ve stood at this moment before.”

Her wings threatened to appear, thought better of it, hid. “Instinct resonance. It flares if our emotions spike together. It’s not—” She caught herself, flustered. “It doesn’t make anything happen. It just… notices.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “So do I.”

She blinked. “You… don’t mind?”

I shook my head. “If it keeps you safer tonight, I’ll take it.”

She stared at me like I’d said something illegal. Then, very quietly, “Thank you.”

5
We waited for the rain to choose a personality. It didn’t. Fine.

Cloaks on. We stepped into the downpour together. The ridge path gleamed. Thunder rolled over for a nap.

Our shoulders bumped once by accident. Then again, not by accident.

“So,” I said. “Where to?”

“Away,” she said. “Through the low pass. Then I’ll see what fresh disaster the guild has filed under ‘simple.’”

“Romantic.”

“I’m a practical woman.”

We walked. The resonance hum lingered—quiet, steady, like a thread between distant bells.

After ten steps, I said, “For the record, I didn’t plan to invade a cave while someone was mid—um—wardrobe argument.”

“For the record,” she said primly, “I planned to dry my shirt without witnesses.”

“Similar outcomes, really.”

Her tail bumped my calf. “Don’t be cheeky.”

“Sorry. Medical condition. The guild—”

“—doesn’t cover it,” she finished, rolling her eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“Working on it.”

She laughed, the sound cutting through the rain brighter than lightning.

6
Halfway down the pass, three shapes lurched from behind a spill of stones—mud-slick, desperate. Not mercenaries. Villagers. One clutching his arm, another limping.

Ryn’s tail snapped taut. My chest tugged hard left before I saw the blood there.

“Bandits,” the limping man gasped. “They took our packbeast—said they’d be back.”

I handed him my spare wrap and a chunk of bread without thinking. “How many?”

“Four. Maybe five.” He winced. “Up the old cart track.”

Ryn met my eyes. No question. No hesitation. “Left side is mine.”

“Right side is yours,” I finished. “We move.”

We didn’t argue about whether to help. We just chose to.

The cart track cut across a scrub slope. We caught them fast—four ragged men hauling a groaning beast and debating what qualified as “evening tax.”

I stepped out first. “Hi. Quick question—do you accept returns on stolen goods?”

They reached for blades. Ryn sighed like a teacher on the last week of term.

The first charged me. I parried, slipped under, tapped his wrist, turned his momentum into a personal mud appointment. Another lunged; Ryn flicked him into a bush with a neat oni-boosted heel and the calm of a woman finishing chores before tea.

“Option to surrender,” I offered.

They declined. Poorly.

A short scuffle later, the packbeast was free, two men reconsidered every life choice, and no one had new holes. We tied a red strip on a branch to mark “don’t use this road, it’s unlucky now.” Villagers reclaimed their gear with shaking thanks.

“You two—are you with a guild?” the older man asked.

“Technically,” Ryn said.

“Practically,” I added, “we’re with anyone who needs help.”

The resonance hum approved.

7
We saw the villagers to the main road and pointed them toward safer lights. Rain softened to a steady whisper.

Ryn pushed wet hair from her face, cheeks flushed from effort. “You fight like someone who doesn’t want to hurt people.”

“I don’t.” I adjusted my cloak. “Stopping pain feels better than causing it.”

Her eyes warmed. “Dangerously noble, bakery boy.”

“Occupational hazard.”

We crested the last rise before the low pass. The clouds split enough to lay one silver line across the horizon.

Ryn matched my pace until our shoulders touched and stayed there. “For what it’s worth,” she said softly, “I usually travel alone. Easier that way. Fewer people to… disappoint.”

“You didn’t disappoint anyone today,” I said. “You helped them get home.”

A long pause. Tail curl. Wing-flutter-restrained. “If I—if we—walk together for a while,” she said, casual as a sword in a bouquet, “it’s for practical reasons.”

“Obviously. Practical.”

“Shared supplies. Safer roads. And you carry towels.”

“I do.”

“And you have good snacks.”

“Best in the kingdom.”

“And…” She trailed off, then smiled, small and real. “You feel… steady.”

The tug beneath my ribs answered before I did. “Then stay. For as long as it’s practical.”

“Practical,” she echoed, entirely unconvinced by her own word.

We started down the other side of the pass—baker and half-oni succubus, walking in the rain with a quiet thread humming between us and trouble already trying to schedule a meeting.

I didn’t know where the road would bend next. I only knew I’d chosen to walk it.

And for now, she chose it too.