Moments later, Bavrik sat comfortably in his chair, the food on his plate already finished. Around him, commanders either glanced about idly or leaned in small clusters, trading murmured words.
A knock broke the quiet rhythm of the room. The door opened, and Silas stepped in with his usual measured grace. Behind him followed a woman—Chirurgeon Alayne Veynar.
She moved into the tavern with unhurried poise, a stillness in her gait that drew eyes as surely as the clink of gold. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties, her gaze calm as it swept over the gathered generals. A few of them were already half out of their seats; others simply stared, their conversations dying mid-sentence.
Her hair was the warm brown of polished chestnut, her eyes matching in shade, their depth softened by a complexion pale and unblemished. Her face was small and fine-featured, the kind that made people instinctively lean closer. She carried little muscle—only enough to manage her work as a surgeon and whatever menial tasks her life required—but her form was balanced, the subtle curve of her waist and the neat set of her hips lending her a quiet symmetry.
Her chest was bound beneath a sarashi, the wrapping concealing whatever lay beneath, yet from the outside it looked perfectly compact, perfectly in place. With her modest height, the effect was one of delicate, almost fragile grace.
Her clothing fit her like a second skin—a snug top paired with a leggings-like garment that clung to her lower body as though it were reluctant to let go, outlining every line of her shape. It was attire that didn't simply cover her form, but seemed to hunger for it.
Alayne slowly lifted her head, her eyes meeting Bavrik's—eyes that, until that moment, had been fixed far too intently on her form.
"Commander Bavrik," she began, her voice even yet edged with a faint curiosity, "Silas told me you called for me?" The question broke through the haze in his mind, snapping him out of his quiet daze.
Bavrik startled slightly in his chair before catching himself, clearing his throat with a small cough. "Mhm… yes. I did."
With a measured gesture, he inclined his head toward Velira. "She has something to do with a chirurgeon," he said, his gaze shifting from Alayne to Velira.
Velira's eyes lingered on the newcomer for a moment, taking her in as though weighing some private thought. At last, she sighed softly. "Good evening, Chirurgeon Alayne," she greeted, rising to her feet.
"And to you," Alayne replied, returning the courtesy with a restrained nod, her movements modest yet graceful. Around them, a few commanders' gazes clung to her, as if they could drink her in with their eyes alone.
With a small nod of acknowledgment, Velira stepped aside and gestured toward the tavern's rear door. "Come here," she said, her tone quiet but carrying purpose.
Alayne hesitated only a moment before following, the faint sound of her boots on the wooden floor tapping softly against the hush that had fallen over the room.
Bavrik's eyes tracked their departure. "Is it the boy?" he asked, his tone low, a thread of curiosity running beneath the words—referring, of course, to the one Velira had spoken of in her tale.
Velira, without breaking stride, inclined her head in a nod.
"Then… I think we might want to meet him," Bavrik said at last, turning to the other generals. They exchanged brief looks, then nodded in agreement, each one snapping back from the lingering haze of Alayne's presence.
Velira, however, wore a trace of hesitation as her gaze swept over the dozens—or more—generals gathered in the room. She spoke with quiet humility, "I'd like you all to. But for now… he's sleeping. And the room, as well as the hallway, wouldn't have the space to hold everyone."
Bavrik let out a low hum of consideration, his eyes moving from her to the assembled officers. "Then only the company commanders shall go," he decided, his tone firm but measured. Turning back to Velira, he asked, "Will that do?"
Velira considered his words for a moment, her expression thoughtful. Finally, she nodded. "Alright. If it's just the fellow commanders, then that shall do."
With that, she stepped into the hallway, raising a hand to beckon Mira.
From the kitchen, Mira emerged—wiping sweat from the hollow of her collarbone and the curve of her cleavage with the back of her wrist. Her eyes fell on Velira first, then drifted to the woman beside her—soft in form, petite in stature, her composure unshaken despite the attention she drew.
Mira arched a brow in silent inquiry.
"This is the surgeon I was talking about," Velira explained, her tone carrying a note of quiet importance.
Mira's gaze settled on the petite woman. She offered a respectful bow. "Thank you for coming this far to help Eren."
Alayne waved her hands lightly, a humble smile touching her lips. "Oh, no problem. Anything for General Velira," she replied with quiet sincerity.
Velira led her into the room.
Inside, the air was hushed and dim. It was the night of a new moon, and no silver light spilled from the sky. The only illumination came from the window—a faint starlight from far beyond the black horizon, soft enough to barely outline the shapes within.
Alayne stepped forward, her eyes adjusting to the shadows.
"Shall I light a candle?" Mira asked from behind.
Alayne raised a hand in a gentle refusal. "No, it's fine."
Her gaze shifted to the figure lying on the futon. Eren's chest was bare, his only covering a thin pair of trousers. His breathing was steady but shallow. She knelt beside him, her movements deliberate, and took his hand—turning it carefully as her fingers traced along the skin, testing the tension and pulse.
Suddenly, his eyes snapped open. "Ou—ou—ou!" The sound came with a jolt of pain, his body flinching. His gaze darted to the unfamiliar woman bending over him.
"Who… are you?" he demanded, breath catching from the discomfort.
"It's the battalion's best chirurgeon, as I told you," came a voice from the side.
Eren's head turned toward it. Velira stood a few steps away, near the doorway, her posture relaxed yet watchful.
Eren's gaze shifted back to the chirurgeon, whose calm eyes remained fixed on her work.
Her skin was pale—smooth and luminous like fresh-poured milk. In the faint starlight, her hair's true color was difficult to discern, yet something about it promised it would be captivating in full light. Her frame was small, almost delicate—something Eren usually wasn't much a fan of. He preferred older, fuller-figured women. Still, he wouldn't exactly turn her away… not if she offered.
As those thoughts flickered through his mind, the chirurgeon continued her work—her attention fixed on his arm.
"Is there pain anywhere else?" she asked, her voice calm but attentive.
Eren hesitated, then shook his head slightly. "Um… no, I don't think so."
She studied him for a moment, then nodded in quiet understanding. "It's alright. When you feel pain in one place strongly enough, the other aches tend to vanish from notice." She paused, her hand gliding to rest on his chest, the touch deliberate. "But they're still there… waiting, growing."
Her fingers pressed against the muscle—testing, searching—before giving a measured squeeze.
It wasn't painful. Far from it. Eren's faint smile faded into shadow, his expression unreadable.
"Nope," he said simply. "Nothing."
"Mmm…" Alayne shifted her hand from his left chest to his right, giving another measured squeeze.
Eren shook his head again in silent refusal.
By now, the motion felt less like a medical check and more like… something else.
His thoughts were starting to spin, heat curling in his mind, but he forced them down. Not now. Not now, he told himself, even as the chirurgeon's touch grew steadily more deliberate.
Her fingers drifted downward, tracing over the ridges of his abdomen. She brushed across each muscle as though memorizing the shape, before pausing—her expression thoughtful—and pressing at his sides, then his stomach, searching for a reaction.
No pain.
She hummed quietly, her eyes lifting to study his face. His breathing had grown the faintest bit uneven. A flicker of mischief crossed her thoughts—one she meant to push away, but didn't.
Her fingers curved slightly, gliding from his waist toward his groin. They slipped along the inside of his thigh before coming to rest against the deep line of his pelvic crease. She watched him closely.
Eren's breath hitched, but he held himself still, refusing to let the reaction show beyond the subtle change in rhythm.
Then, with a smile unseen by the others in the room, she turned her head—pressing her palm in and giving a slow, deliberate squeeze to the side of his groin.
Eren wasn't wearing anything beneath his pants—just a thick, heavy bulge straining under the thin fabric.
His body gave a sudden twitch.
Tch… Too hard to hold it in. His cock pulsed—swelling against the cloth before settling back down.
That was enough for Alayne.
Is that real? she whispered, a faint gasp catching in her throat.
Her eyes flicked up to Eren's face—his breath uneven—then down again to the shape that had moved. She seemed to weigh her next action. One hand glided slowly up the firm pecs of his chest, while the other slipped lower… deeper.
Through the fabric, her fingers traced along the heat until she found him. Her lips curled into a small, wicked smile. Then, with one swift, almost possessive movement, she closed her hand around his cock—fingers wrapping along its length—while her palm cupped the weight of his balls that hung heavy between his thighs.
Eren suddenly jerked, his lips parting as if to speak—but no words came.
Alayne's hand shot up, covering his mouth, palm pressing firmly to silence him.
Her gaze shifted to his face—puzzled, yet calm in that strange way he had—and she smiled. Slowly, she turned her head toward the two women by the door. They were watching, but the shadows made it impossible for them to truly see what was happening. Likewise, the dim light left Alayne unable to clearly read their expressions.
Under the new moon, only a scatter of distant stars gave any light at all. A faint spill of it crept in through the window, too weak to pierce the gloom. Alayne had asked for no candles, and now she was glad—darkness wrapped around them like a shroud.
She inhaled slowly, holding her composure. One hand remained wrapped around the thick base of his cock, fingers curling possessively, her palm cupping the heavy weight beneath. The other kept his mouth muffled, her fingers spread across the curve of his jaw.
Her eyes narrowed with quiet resolve.
"I might need a little privacy from here," she said.
Mira hesitated, her lips parting. But before she could speak, Velira stepped in with an easy tone.
"Don't worry, it'll be fine." She glanced at Eren, her words meant more for him than for Mira. "After all, she's the fiancée of a Marquisse's son."
She put deliberate weight on the last few words before turning away. The door shut behind her with a soft but final click.
As the door closed behind the two women, Alayne slowly removed her hand from Eren's mouth. Her palm was slick with his saliva, but she didn't seem to care—she didn't even bother to wipe it away.
Her other hand remained where it was, wrapped around the thick base of his cock and cupping the heavy weight beneath. She couldn't curl her fingers all the way around, but that didn't matter; she seemed perfectly content just to hold what she could.
Before Eren could speak, she reached to her side and pulled out a small leather pouch.
"Look, boy," she began, her voice low and deliberate. "I've been away from my fiancé for weeks…" She pressed her grip tighter, giving a sharp flick that slapped his shaft against his thigh beneath the thin fabric.
The weight and sheer size made her pause mid-motion, her breath hitching as she drew in a slow gasp.
"…Gods know when I last had sex."
Her eyes lingered on the outline beneath his pants as she loosened the drawstring of the pouch in her hand. "If you do this with me, you'll get ten silvers—" she gave a faint, knowing smile, "—and the experience of being with the best woman in the western reaches."
Her tongue swept slowly across her lips before she added, in a softer, more dangerous tone, "Provided, of course, that you keep it a secret."
Her free hand drifted upward, gliding between the firm lines of his pecs, her nails tracing lightly before curling and resting over his heart as her smile widened.