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The house felt too empty now.
Master Elira had left after finishing her spellwork, leaving behind nothing but the lingering warmth of her presence and a faint, tantalizing scent that clung to the air like a drug.
Mike's chest ached with restless need.
He stepped outside, letting the cool night breeze lick against his skin, but it didn't cool the heat inside him.
Hands buried deep in his pockets, he wandered aimlessly under the dim light of the streetlamps.
His fingers brushed against something soft, hidden in his pocket.
He paused.
Slowly — almost reverently — he pulled it out.
Master Elira's panty.
Lacy, delicate, faintly carrying the sweet, addictive scent of her body.
Mike's heart hammered violently in his chest.
The fabric slid over his fingers like the soft caress of her skin.
He could almost imagine her wearing it... the way it hugged her hips... the way it clung to her most intimate places.
His breathing quickened.
Memories — forbidden, wild — flooded his mind.
He remembered last year, when he had stood outside the bathroom door, heart racing, watching through the narrow crack.
Elira, bathed in steam, water glistening over her flawless bare skin...
Her plump breasts rising and falling with each breath...
Her fingers sliding sensually down her naked body as she washed herself, completely unaware of the hungry eyes drinking in every sinful detail.
Mike bit his lip, his body throbbing with need.
"Master Elira..." he whispered into the night, clutching the panty against his face, inhaling her sweet, intimate scent.
His mind filled with images — of pinning her down, kissing every inch of her soft, yielding body, hearing her moan his name in helpless pleasure.
"I don't just want to serve you anymore..."
"I want to own you... make you mine."
His other hand slid lower, aching for release, but he stopped himself — savoring the growing madness, the forbidden lust boiling inside him.
The cool wind brushed against him again, but no chill could touch the fire burning beneath his skin.
Only Elira could satisfy this hunger.
Only she could break the unbearable tension coiling inside him.
And Mike swore to himself, under the empty sky:
"Soon, Master Elira... very soon... you'll belong to me."
---
It was night already.
The muddy ground squelched under Mike's worn-out boots as he walked down the cracked dirt path.
The village lay in ruin — broken wooden houses, crooked fences, the air thick with the smell of damp earth and smoke.
Master Elira's lingering magic still tingled in the air behind him, but Mike's heart was elsewhere — restless, burning.
His hand brushed the secret treasure hidden in his pocket: her stolen, delicate panty.
The night was quiet, save for the occasional creak of old wood and the distant howl of wild dogs.
Until a desperate cry shattered the silence.
Mike's body stiffened.
He followed the sound — and there, near the edge of the dying village torchlight, he saw them:
Three older boys, kicking and beating a much smaller, helpless boy.
The little one was curled in the mud, whimpering as fists rained down on him.
Mike's eyes darkened.
He strode toward them, boots splashing in shallow puddles.
"Oi," he called out coldly. "Enough of that."
The bullies turned.
Dirty clothes, wild eyes — the kind of thugs who ruled these broken streets by strength alone.
Mike stood firm.
"Touch him again, and you'll regret it."
The leader of the group, a wiry teen with a rusted iron dagger at his hip, sneered.
Without warning, he lunged forward and slammed his fist into Mike's chest.
Thud!
Mike staggered backward, slipping on the wet mud and falling hard.
His cloak soaked through instantly, chilling him to the bone.
The bullies laughed cruelly.
But Mike only smiled as he rose slowly, brushing the mud from his hands.
His voice came low and sharp:
"Oh... so you really want it, huh? Then let's begin."
He whispered ancient words — the kind forbidden in these parts.
"Wind Whisper."
The air around them stirred unnaturally, the mist swirling.
A sudden, sharp gust of wind slammed into the bullies, knocking them off their feet into the muck.
Before they could scramble up, Mike lifted his hand again, eyes flashing with dangerous light.
"Ember Spark."
A shower of tiny fiery embers rained down around the thugs, singeing their hair and burning holes through their filthy tunics.
The flames hissed as they touched the wet ground, releasing trails of smoke.
The leader cursed and charged again — but Mike moved like the wind itself.
One step forward —
A low sweep of his leg —
And the leader crashed face-first into the mud with a loud, wet splatter.
The other two scrambled back, their courage broken.
Mike stood over them, his muddy cloak flaring behind him like a dark wing.
"This village is rotten enough without scum like you making it worse," he said coldly.
"Get lost before I bury you right here."
Terror finally seized them.
The two thugs fled into the night, dragging their unconscious leader with them.
Mike turned his attention back to the minor boy, still curled up, shivering.
He knelt down, extending a hand.
"You're safe now," Mike said softly.
His voice, though rough, carried a strange gentleness.
The boy hesitated — then grabbed Mike's hand.
Mike pulled him up, steadying him.
In the distant broken streets, under the ruined torches, Mike stood like a lone knight in a world long forgotten by gods or kings.
And somewhere deep inside him — clutching Elira's stolen panty still hidden in his pocket —
Mike vowed:
"Someday... I'll tear this whole rotten world apart."
"And build one where she belongs to me."
---
Mike's voice broke the heavy silence.
"What's your name, boy?"
The boy hesitated, then mumbled quietly:
"Zane."
Mike nodded slowly, memorizing it.
"Why were they beating you?" Mike asked, his tone calm but sharp.
Zane looked down, his tiny hands clenching into fists.
"They don't need a reason..." he said, voice trembling. "They just... do it for fun."
Mike's jaw tightened.
"Hmph. So that's the kind of world we live in..." he muttered under his breath.
The broken, lawless streets.
The strong preying on the weak just to feel alive.
Mike crouched down, so he was at the boy's eye level.
"Where are your parents?"