Sunless, deep within the shadows of the earth.
This was beneath the Mithral District of Liberl Port: a vast, labyrinthine sewer system. Built to handle summer typhoons and torrential rains, the city's sewers were truly massive—broader even than the tunnels carved out by a grown chthonian.
Such an enormous, perpetually shadowed sewer network—when there wasn't a storm—naturally became the perfect hiding spot for the city's criminal underbelly.
Information brokers, gang thugs, cultists, human traffickers, drug sellers, arms dealers... Anyone who couldn't stand the sunlight, any dirty deal too dangerous for the surface, would go down here to conduct their business.
In fact, Liberl Port's largest native criminal syndicate, the Xanathar's Guild, had its headquarters here: a secret base unknown to the world.
In a deep, pitch-dark chamber, an eye as big as a bull's floated in the air, lids closed.
Beneath its body, eight long eyestalks trailed down, each tipped with another blinking, watchful eye—a beholder.
This was the infamous Xanathar, boss of the Xanathar's Guild.
Now, he was dreaming.
Beholders possessed supernatural reality-bending powers; their dreams could bleed into the real world, become truth itself. Even their species propagated through dreams—if they encountered a new beholder while dreaming, that sleeper might instinctively pull its dreamt twin into reality!
Such were the wondrous, impossible creatures known as beholders.
But, at that very moment, the beholder suddenly jolted awake, a scowl twisting its single eye—a surly rage that said someone had just dared to interrupt its beautiful dream.
"Mind flayers…"
Amidst the eyestalks, its hidden mouth opened in anger just below the massive main eye, spitting venomous words: "To tamper with my mind… I'll kill you all! Kill you all!"
Now that chthonians had tunneled into the city, evil things from the Underdark had made their way into Liberl Port—and in doing so, disturbed the dreams of one of the city's most terrifying natives. Xanathar's furious tirade echoed through the empty chamber.
...
The next morning.
Charles slowly opened his eyes to bright sunlight. Instinctively, he looked around—and in the golden morning light, he saw Anno's adorable sleeping face.
Her skin was impossibly delicate, cheeks flushed with a beautiful blush; every golden eyelash stood upright and perfect, just begging to be counted one by one.
He felt at total peace. A lazy, contented warmth filled him; for a while, all thoughts of pressure or plans, quests or crisis, faded away. Lying here, facing this girl, watching her sleep was all he wanted in the world.
For this moment, there was only the two of them.
After an unknown time, Anno's brow twitched, and she eased awake.
Sensing something, she turned her head—and found herself looking right into Charles's smiling gaze.
He reached an arm around her, pulling her close, and said softly, "Good morning, beautiful."
Remembering what had happened last night, Anno's cheeks immediately flared a deep, burning red.
She ducked her head, unable to meet his eyes, and buried herself in the blanket, playing ostrich.
But Charles held tight, pulling her directly into his arms, and just feeling the sweet softness of her body beneath his touch set his desire rising once more.
Feeling that familiar hot, hard pressure prodding her thighs, Anno went crazy with embarrassment, wriggling in his grip. "Stop moving! Behave yourself!"
Charles held her tight, ignoring the discomfort from her squirming. "Hey, it's not my fault…"
"You're too beautiful, and, well, I'm still young…"
He grinned and showered her with playful praise—words that made Anno both shy and happy. As the heat between them grew, her face went crimson again.
Charles pressed her close, burying her in his chest, pinning her full, elastic breasts between them as he drew ever closer. "Babe, I…"
He didn't finish, but Anno got the message immediately. She quickly protested, "No!"
Pushing against his chest with both hands, she insisted, "Last night was special—an accident. That was a one-time thing, Charles. We can't let ourselves slip again."
"We're still so young, we can't get addicted to this… Charles, you promised!"
Charles held her, whispering into her ear, "But I really want you, love…"
"I ache for you right now, I need you…"
His breathy confession melted Anno's resistance. Feeling his firmness and heat pressed between her thighs, her own body began to respond, despite herself.
"It's getting late…" she whispered, her voice small as a mosquito, "People will notice…"
Charles caressed her back. "They won't. After everything yesterday, everyone's exhausted. Nobody's getting up early."
Anno found herself unable to argue anymore. Maybe there were reasons to say no, but she didn't want to look for them.
"Okay… just this once," she whispered. "The last time, alright? Never again."
Immediately, Charles lowered his head, kissing her soft lips, his big hands roaming over her rounded curves.
Anno let out a gasp, dropping all inhibition as she explored his body—her hand finding his heat, clumsily but earnestly trying to please him back.
As Charles pressed on top of her, burying himself in her now familiar softness, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, her whole body shuddering with bliss.
When Charles thrust into her—hard and deep—Anno wanted to scream with pleasure.
Thankfully, some sliver of sanity reminded her what would happen if she made a sound, and she clapped a hand over her mouth, trapping every wave of pleasure inside.
At last, Charles again released deep inside her, and both of them lay limp and sweaty, tangled together in contentment.
But this moment was short-lived. Footsteps outside the tent meant others had woken.
Anno, suddenly anxious, scrambled to her feet—scolding Charles for taking too long—then rushed to dress. Once clothed, she gave Charles orders to pretend he was busy, not to leave the tent, and then, acting all casual, slipped out of his tent as if nothing had happened.
Charles couldn't help but laugh—who was she trying to fool? No one really cared about their relationship, and even if they did, it wasn't their business.
Still, to spare his girlfriend's modesty, he obediently stayed in the tent, pondering their next move.
After all, Montport's unexpected raid had flipped his plans upside down: he'd intended to cooperate with the Alliance of the Mountain Purifiers, fight some demons, grind up some points, sow dissent, and eventually take care of Torun.
Now Montport was dead, the Alliance suffered heavy losses, and Torun—whom he'd most wanted to kill—had fallen by his own hand.
So, what next? Was there even a reason to stick around?
As he mused, his stomach rumbled with hunger, ending his train of thought. Figuring Anno should be done "camouflaging," he grabbed his things, went out to wash up, and headed off to find some breakfast before deciding anything else.
--------------------------------------
Enjoying the story? Get early access to 270+ Advanced Chapters!
👉 Support now: patreon.com/TransFic
--------------------------------------