Bloom Moon 17
The hearth crackled softly, its glow casting amber warmth across the modest room. Shadows stretched long over the wooden floor, flickering with each sway of flame. Outside, Orario had fallen into the hush of night—no carriages rumbling past, no distant chatter. Just the gentle whistle of early spring wind slipping through the eaves.
Felis sat near the end of the table, golden eyes reflecting firelight. His sword rested against the wall beside him, armor already cleaned and set out.
The door creaked open.
Light boots stepped in first, followed by heavier ones. Narissa's voice, crisp as ever, broke the silence.
"We're back."
Bell trailed close behind her. There was fatigue in his steps, but not defeat—his usual spark hadn't dulled.
"The Guild clerk said we did well today. Um… we're back, Felis-san."
Felis nodded slightly, his tail curling lazily behind him.
"You didn't go down again?" Narissa asked, removing her gloves. Her tone wasn't sharp—just direct, as always.
"No," he said simply, gaze steady. "Not today."
A quiet settled. Not heavy, but expectant.
"…You're not heading out tonight, are you?" Bell asked, eyes drifting toward the neatly arranged gear by the wall. "It's already late."
Felis stood, stretching out his limbs with a faint roll of his shoulders. He looked at the two of them in turn before speaking.
"Not tonight," he said. "But tomorrow… I will. Alone."
Narissa's brow arched. Bell blinked, surprise written clearly on his face.
"Alone? But… why now?"
Felis let the question linger for a beat. Then, his voice came—calm, but firm, carrying something deeper beneath the surface.
"Because it's been too long since I fought for my own sake," he said. "Lately, I've been watching over you both. Teaching. Guiding. Holding back when I shouldn't. That was necessary—for a while. But I can feel it… I'm starting to dull."
He brought a hand to his side, golden eyes narrowing slightly. Like a blade tested and found wanting.
"I need to sharpen myself again. That means going deeper—somewhere you two can't follow. Not yet."
Narissa crossed her arms, leaning against the wall.
"We never asked you to babysit us."
"I know," Felis replied with a faint grin. "But I chose to. That's different."
Bell looked down, chewing lightly on his lip.
"Will you be gone long?"
Felis shook his head. "A few days, maybe. I won't go too deep. Just far enough to remind myself what it means to grow—as an adventurer."
Narissa didn't respond right away. She watched him with that cool, measured gaze of hers. Then, after a moment—
"Don't come back dead."
Felis' grin widened. "Heh… that's your way of showing concern, huh?"
Bell managed a quiet chuckle. "Then… be safe out there, Felis-san."
Felis gave a slow nod, then motioned toward a bundle resting near the wall.
"Before I go—Bell, I'm leaving something for you."
Bell tilted his head as Felis unwrapped the bundle, revealing a full set of armor—worn, but recently repaired. The leather gleamed subtly, plates re-bolted and reinforced with fresh lines of stitching and care.
"I had this commissioned from Welf a while back. It's served me well. It's light, balanced… and more than enough for where you're heading."
Bell's eyes widened. "Felis-san… I can't possibly—"
"You can," Felis cut in gently. "And you will."
He reached behind him, drawing a slender, gleaming dagger wrapped in deep blue cloth. Its white blade shimmered faintly—like moonlight on snow.
"And this," he said, offering the blade to Bell. "Moonpiercer. Welf forged it from a unicorn horn I brought back from the nineteenth floor. It's precise, fast, and sharp enough to pierce through tougher hide. You'll put it to better use now than I will."
Bell took it with both hands, reverent. "Thank you… I'll train hard. I promise."
"You'd better," Felis smirked, then turned his gaze toward Narissa. "Same goes for you."
She scoffed lightly, arms still folded. "Tch. I don't need a hand-me-down."
"You don't," he agreed. "Because I don't have any. But you still better not slack off."
A brief silence lingered between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Just the quiet weight of understanding.
Tomorrow, the path would split—at least for a while.
But tonight, the fire still burned, and the bond between them held firm in its warmth.
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The soft creak of the bedroom door barely made a sound. No announcement. No hesitation.
She lay curled on her side beneath the covers, the lantern dimmed to a soft amber hue. One bare shoulder peeked out from beneath the sheets, and her long hair spilled like ink across the pillow. Her back was to him, but the moment Felis stepped in, her voice slipped through the silence.
"…You're going back, aren't you?"
No accusation. No surprise.
Just knowing.
Felis closed the door behind him. Quietly. Carefully. He didn't answer right away—he didn't need to.
"…Just for a little while," he said softly. "I won't go far."
Hestia let out a slow breath, not turning.
"…Like before?"
"…Like before," he admitted.
The stillness between them wasn't cold. It was heavy—thick with things already felt, already accepted. But still painful.
Felis moved closer. His boots were already off; the floor cool beneath his feet as he padded across the room. He reached the side of the bed and paused—waiting.
Then, slowly, Hestia shifted, rolling to face him. Her eyes were glossy in the low light—sleepy, soft, and sad.
"Come here," she whispered.
Felis slipped beneath the covers, the warmth of her body drawing him in like gravity. Her hand found his cheek the moment he settled beside her, and her thumb brushed the faint smear of dirt he hadn't noticed he still wore.
"You didn't even wash up," she murmured.
"I forgot," he said, voice low.
Hestia didn't scold him. She just leaned in and kissed his forehead. Then his temple. Then the edge of his jaw.
"You always do this," she whispered against his skin. "Shouldering things alone. Hurting quietly. Acting strong."
Her fingers moved through his hair, brushing it back. "Even now… you won't ask me to stop you."
Felis said nothing.
Because he knew she was right.
And still, her hand didn't leave him. Her touch was gentle, tracing the shape of his ear, the line of his jaw, the bridge of his nose—like she was memorizing him all over again.
"I knew this morning," she said, voice barely audible. "When you asked about Skills. About her. I knew something shifted in you."
Her forehead touched his.
"You're going back to find the answer she hasn't been given."
He exhaled slowly. "…I have to."
"I know," she whispered.
She kissed him then. Not fiery. Not needy. Just slow and tender and full of that quiet ache that came with loving someone who always walked toward danger with eyes wide open.
When their lips parted, she stayed close, her breath mingling with his.
"Then let me be selfish just a little," she whispered, pulling him in by the waist.
Her legs tangled with his beneath the sheets. Her hands pressed against his back. Not to pull him closer—but to feel he was real.
"To hold you one more night."
Her lips ghosted against his ear.
"Before you go back to hurting."
Felis didn't speak. He just held her tighter.
Not because he needed comfort.
But because she did.
And in the hush of their shared warmth, no more words were needed.
No promises.
No goodbyes.
Just skin against skin, heart against heart—two souls curled around the knowledge that dawn would come, and with it, the dungeon's silence.
But for tonight, they had this.
A slow, quiet embrace. The softness of touch where words failed. The weight of love that didn't demand or restrain—but understood.
And when sleep finally claimed them, it was with fingers still entwined, breaths steady and in sync, and the faint scent of earth still clinging to Felis like a memory that wouldn't quite let go.
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Bloom moon 18
The sun had only just begun to filter through the curtains, casting a golden haze over the room. Hestia lay draped across Felis' chest, one leg tangled over his, her breath soft and steady. The scent of her still lingered on the sheets—sweet, warm, faintly divine.
Felis, already half-awake, traced idle circles along her spine. His tail flicked lazily beneath the covers.
"You better not miss me too much," he murmured, voice thick with sleep and amusement. "Wouldn't want you sprinting into the dungeon just to find me."
Hestia let out a muffled grumble, burying half her face into the blankets. "Tch… don't tempt me."
He chuckled, brushing a kiss to the crown of her head. "I mean it. I'll come back before you even have time to do that."
Hestia peeked at him with one sleepy eye, then pouted. "I thought newlyweds were supposed to stick together all the time... but you're already running off and leaving me."
Felis raised a brow. "Technically, we haven't had a wedding yet."
"Mm." She tugged the blanket higher over her face. "Still shy. I don't want to face Bell and Narissa if they find out."
Felis leaned in, voice low and teasing by her ear. "Then how about we just hold one in secret? Just you, me… and maybe the stars as our witness."
Her breath caught for half a second before she swatted his arm lightly, cheeks rosy.
"Dummy…"
Felis chuckled, catching her hand in his, lacing their fingers together. For a moment, they stayed like that—quiet, breathing in the soft pulse of morning that hadn't yet demanded anything of them.
But time didn't wait, even for them.
Reluctantly, he shifted, pressing one last kiss to her forehead before sliding out from beneath the sheets. The warmth of her clung to his skin as he sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on his undershirt with practiced motions.
Hestia peeked over the blanket, watching him with half-lidded eyes full of stubborn fondness. "Don't get too reckless," she murmured.
He glanced back, flashing a soft grin. "I'll come back safe."
The sounds of Heart Manor waking up drifted faintly through the floor—the distant clatter of Narissa preparing breakfast, Bell's light footsteps crossing the upper hallway.
Felis strapped on the lighter pieces of his armor, movements economical and unhurried. Today wasn't for conquest. It was for steady progress. For the deeper floors that waited.
By the time he was fastening the last buckle on his gauntlet, Hestia had pushed herself upright, the blanket pooling around her waist. She swung her legs over the bed, stretching, her hair falling in a sleepy cascade down her back.
"Don't make me come drag you home," she said, trying to sound stern—but her voice wavered, just a little.
Felis stepped closer, bumping his forehead lightly against hers.
"I'll make sure you won't have to," he said softly.
The golden morning light caught the faint smile that lingered between them, quiet and real.
Then—without another word—Felis turned, cloak swirling behind him as he left the bedroom, the door clicking gently shut.
Today, the Dungeon awaited.
And far below Orario, in the distant depths of the 19th Floor, his next steps would carve themselves into the stone.
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[Bloom Moon 18, 1222 OR – Dungeon, 19th Floor: Forested Sanctuary Edge]
The underbrush rustled in that faintly familiar way—low, shivering movements that echoed between gnarled roots and slanted trunks. Shafts of pale light filtered from above, dust catching in their glow like glitter suspended midair. The 19th Floor was always quiet. Serene, even.
But Felis knew better.
He stepped lightly between moss-covered rocks, golden eyes scanning the foliage. His ears flicked at the faintest chirp—Almiraj, likely. His tail gave a lazy sway, more from memory than nerves.
'Still the same scent… still the same tension in the ground. No mistakes in the terrain.'
He could draw the map of this floor with his eyes closed.
It was here, months ago, that he made the Dungeon scream. When he was still Level 1, his blade had sung through fur and bone alike—faster than Almiraj could dart, sharper than Lygerfang claws. Sword Stags fell mid-charge. The floor had flooded with monsters in an effort to smother him.
And when that failed, Variants emerged.
Today, he returned not to fight for survival…
…but to remind the Dungeon he hadn't been a fluke.
A pair of Lygerfangs prowled ahead—too slow to notice him already moving. One lunged—
Shnk.
His blade carved through its flank mid-air. It hadn't even landed when the second pounced, only for Felis to duck beneath and drive his elbow into its belly—sending it crashing into the underbrush. A simple follow-up bisected it before it could snarl.
Chirp—rustle—chirp.
Five Almiraj scattered from a nearby thicket. Two moved like blurs—zigzagging impossibly fast.
He didn't chase.
He crouched, flicked a stone with the tip of his boot—and the nearest one darted right into his upswing. A brief flash of light as the beast vanished into black ash. Another tried to flank from the side—only for Felis to pivot, chainmail rustling under leather, and slice it clean down the center.
Even the Sword Stag that burst through the trees, horn glinting like forged silver, met only futility.
Felis sidestepped the charge with the grace of a dancer. One hand caught its antler to anchor the spin—his blade followed in a single, elegant arc that severed the neck just below the chin.
It collapsed in silence.
He exhaled softly, golden eyes half-lidded.
No wounds. No fatigue. Only a faint hum in his veins. Numen Aquae hadn't even activated.
'Too easy now…'
The only thing that pulled his attention was a flicker near the corner of his vision—something misty, faintly glowing.
Felis paused.
A flicker in the underbrush—not solid, not consistent. A shimmer of pale movement, almost like a mirage. Then… nothing.
His golden eyes narrowed, the tip of his sword tilting just slightly downward.
"…Ghost Hare."
A Variant of Almiraj, barely visible in motion, its form flitting through trees like drifting mist. Back then, it had taken all his focus to corner one. Now?
Now, he simply listened.
Ears twitched. The faintest crunch—a twig, disturbed just out of his direct line of sight.
His muscles shifted, tail swaying slowly. He took one light step forward.
Nothing.
Then—
A blur behind him.
The air shifted.
He twisted, sword snapping backward in a sharp reverse arc—not chasing the illusion, but aiming for where the real weight would land.
A flash of pale fur. A yelp of pain.
Steel cut through the Variant mid-lunge, and its form shattered like a smoke-filled shell, dissolving in black mist and shimmering remnants.
A second presence dashed left from the edge of the clearing—another Ghost Hare, trying to bolt.
Felis surged forward—not blindly, but guided by its pattern. He kicked a loose root in its path, just enough to make it flinch mid-step. In that moment of hesitation, he was already there—blade gleaming as he cut it down cleanly.
Two flashes. Two kills.
Silence returned.
The Dungeon didn't send more.
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The air grew heavier past the clearing.
Felis slowed his pace as the forest thinned, gnarled trees giving way to winding roots and fractured stone paths. The moss beneath his boots gave a soft squish, darker here—older. He stepped past a crumbled archway, half-swallowed by time and overgrowth, and felt the subtle shift ripple down his spine.
The 20th Floor.
His golden eyes swept the terrain. Twisted thickets stretched into the distance like skeletal fingers. The canopy had broken in places, letting shafts of dim light touch patches of crumbled bridgework and ruins half-buried in roots. It wasn't loud, but it wasn't quiet either. Somewhere in the distance, a roar echoed—low, territorial, claimed and challenged in the same breath.
Felis exhaled through his nose, gaze sharpening.
'Same monsters… but this isn't the 19th anymore.'
He recognized the scent trails—Almiraj, Lygerfangs, Sword Stags, even faint hints of unicorn musk—but their presence overlapped. Layered. Dense. Not roaming… but stalking. Patrolling. The tension here was no longer one of sudden swarm, but constant conflict.
Monsters weren't simply hunting prey—they were guarding territory.
He crouched beside a gouged stone slab, fingers brushing over a claw mark deep in the surface. Wider than any Lygerfang's he'd seen before, but familiar. Dreadfang. Likely another had tried to enter its space and paid the price.
The memories came unbidden.
Fur shrouded in mist—Ghost Hares darting unpredictably between trees. A stag with hide hard as iron shrugging off glancing blows. A Kirin's lightning-charged horn barely missing his side. That dark-furred beast with venom in its fangs and cruelty in its eyes—
He'd faced them all before. Survived them, pushed back, even triumphed. But it had been during the Dungeon's wrath—freak events forced into early bloom by his own recklessness.
This was different.
Now, the floor bred these creatures. This was where they belonged.
His tail flicked once behind him. Calm. Steady.
'Then I belong here too.'
He rose, sliding his blade back into position beside him, and stepped forward—boots crunching over root-wrapped stone as the Dungeon waited in the dark ahead.
The deeper Felis moved into the Broken Vale, the stranger the air felt.
It wasn't just the roots curling overhead like skeletal arms, or the way the cracked stone paths broke apart underfoot—it was the silence.
Not calm like the 19th.
This was the kind of silence that watched.
He moved through a narrow corridor formed by interlocking tree trunks, twisted so tightly they blocked the light. Every step was muffled, even the rustle of his gear subdued by moss and loam. Vines dangled like nooses. The stone beneath his boots bore ancient marks, half-swallowed by age and dust.
A Sword Stag snorted ahead—bigger than the ones before, its antlers heavier, cracked at the tips like they'd gored something recently.
It didn't charge. It stood its ground.
Felis raised a brow slightly. 'Territorial.'
The moment he stepped closer, the beast scraped the ground and lunged—full force.
He sidestepped to the right, letting it crash past. But instead of chasing immediately, he placed one hand on the ground, sensing the subtle hum beneath the soil. No other movements nearby.
One clean strike—he surged forward and brought his blade down at the base of the stag's neck.
Crack. Thunk.
The creature collapsed before it could roar.
Black ash scattered through the roots.
He didn't linger.
Instead, he pressed deeper—tracing the old stone path as it dipped into a sunken hollow. Ruined bridgework stretched overhead, covered in hanging moss and broken by time. Water trickled somewhere distant, but the air smelled of blood.
Not fresh.
Old. Metallic.
And then…
A low growl.
Not a Dreadfang.
The brush parted to his left as something massive stepped out. Not fast. Not eager. But confident.
An Ironhide Stag.
The Variant stood taller than him at the shoulder, plated with thick bone armor over its neck and chest, and one eye milky white. It didn't stomp or flinch—it watched. Waiting.
Felis' eyes narrowed. He moved to draw its attention, but the stag charged first.
Even for its size, it was fast.
He blocked with both hands—his sword scraping against the creature's frontal armor. Sparks flew, but no blood.
Its second charge came with a twist of its head, aiming to gore him. Felis ducked low, shifting to its unarmored flank—and stabbed in.
Thunk.
His blade met resistance.
Not enough. It wasn't deep enough to kill.
He twisted, drove his knee into the wound, and yanked the sword free with a brutal arc.
A crack in the plating. The beast reeled.
He capitalized—multiple feints, then one sharp thrust beneath the rib cage. Straight into the heart.
The Ironhide Stag shuddered and slumped.
'Harder to kill. But not impossible.'
A pause. Just a few breaths. His golden eyes glanced toward a worn pillar nearby, half-collapsed but still sturdy.
He knelt by it—not to rest, but to listen.
The Vale creaked faintly with distant roars. Something howled from far above. A pack call? Or a challenge?
He unscrewed a water vial from his belt and took a small sip. No wounds to heal. No fatigue creeping in. Still steady.
He stood again, sword angled downward, steps silent.
This floor wasn't trying to kill him yet.
It was studying him.
And Felis was more than happy to return the favor.