POV – Lira
"Welcome to the heart of the ruin."
The words slipped from my lips almost on their own, my voice echoing softly across the chamber of treasure. My new assistant; my strange, stubborn, utterly intriguing assistant, stared wide-eyed at the glittering wealth piled around us. His expression was so unguarded, so refreshingly genuine, that I couldn't help but let out a little laugh. Fufufu. How cute.
I had seen sights like this before, though rarely with such intimacy. Usually, I was one of several researchers, escorted by high-ranking skyfarers whose sole purpose was to keep us alive while we cataloged what lay within. Their eyes always lingered on me longer than I liked, their lust poorly disguised as gallantry.
This ruin was different. Not because of the treasures, oh no, those were as grand as expected, but because of him.
This place was called The Arcane Marksman's Lair. According to the exploratory texts, its architect had been a brilliant and eccentric mage, one of the few to master the creation and use of mana pistols. He had made a fortune by hunting surface demons, then selling their parts for alchemical reagents and enchanted weaponry. When he died, his lair became legend.
As soon as I read the old manuscripts at the College, I knew I had to come. I secured an escort of skyfarers and set out from the academy island. The journey was long, not because of the distance but because of them.
How tedious it was, being trapped on an airship with that pack of drooling dogs. The moment they saw my attire, they knew what I was: an unclaimed dark elf. And to men like them, that meant opportunity. They pursued me relentlessly, with the subtlety of starving wolves.
A dark elf's bond isn't something one wins or conquers; it happens when it happens. Instinctual, undeniable, a truth of our blood. They never understand that.
So I locked myself in my cabin the entire voyage, nose buried in books. At least parchment and ink did not leer.
When at last we reached the ruin, I slipped away from my would-be suitors the first chance I had. A cloak of invisibility and a pulse of search magic carried me through a narrow crawlspace, then down a stair into the hidden chamber. My heart leapt when I found the mana-charged door; the mark of a true vault.
I placed my hand on the orb, prepared for a drain. But the moment contact was made, the door devoured my mana like a starving beast. My strength was ripped from me in a torrent, leaving me collapsed on the cold floor.
When I finally stirred, three days had passed. My chronometer told me what my weary body already knew: I had burned nearly everything. It took four more days of rest before I was whole enough to stand, though still weak. And that was when he appeared.
Maximillion. My strange, untrained, dangerously powerful Max.
The man who walked into the chamber and agreed to divide the spoils without hesitation. The man who looked at me, and for the first time in years, I felt something other than disgust under a man's gaze. The one who flushed my cheeks with heat, though I am a dark elf and not easily flustered.
My assistant. My chosen one.
Of course, I had little interest in the treasure itself. My eyes immediately locked onto the wall of books, over a hundred tomes, each bound in thick hide and inked with runes I hadn't seen in decades of study. The knowledge of the Arcane Marksman was mine for the taking.
Max took the rest: weapons, armor, artifacts, and enchanted trinkets. He deserved them. His hands lingered on a pair of mana pistols, twin designs of black steel. When he strapped them into the double hip holster, a shiver ran down my spine. He cut quite the figure, especially when he shrugged on a long brown coat I recognized at once.
"An [Omni-Enchant Coat]," I whispered under my breath. "Those are thought lost…"
He looked at me blankly, oblivious to the rarity of what he wore. Typical Max.
It took us less than five minutes to clear the chamber. I tucked every last book into my [Sack of Holding], hugging it close like a dragon clinging to her hoard. Together, we made for the final chamber, where the teleportation circle waited.
My mana was still lacking, so I instructed him to place his hand on the sigil. He obeyed without question. Light flared, reality bent, and in a blink, we stood outside the ruin once more.
Most mages would stagger, their bodies protesting the abrupt drain. Max didn't even flinch. He stood as if the world's most complex spellwork was nothing more than breathing.
He did flinch at the sight of the welcoming party: a squadron of guards, weapons gleaming, clustered around three battered young men receiving medical aid. Van and his brothers, according to Max. The fools.
It took me ten minutes to soothe the guard captain, produce my credentials, and smooth over the mess. My position as a researcher protected Max from reprisal; without me, he would have been shackled before he could blink.
The brothers glared at him with such venom that I thought they might burst. Max simply smirked and flashed them a vulgar gesture behind my back. I caught it anyway, and despite myself, I smirked too.
He really is amazing. Reckless, unrefined, but amazing.
I know it will take time before he's a proper assistant. He has much to learn: spellcraft, history, etiquette, and restraint. But he has also done something no one else has ever managed: he made my cheeks flush. For a dark elf, that is no small thing. Instinct tells me he is mine, whether he knows it or not.
I can hardly wait to see how he reacts when I explain what that means. Fufufu.
The guards escorted us into the inner dome of Arcadia. There, we explained our success to a local lord, who waved us on our way with practiced disinterest once he saw my seal. That night, Max and I found ourselves seated in an inn, discussing our next steps.
He surprised me again. He announced that he intended to sell part of the treasure, not to enrich himself but to send money to his family, enough to buy them passage off Arcadia, should they wish it. At first I thought it was out of love, but I was wrong. He simply wanted to leave the island without owing anything to the family that had used him as free labour.
I offered to buy whatever books he had gathered from ruins over the years. The sum was enough to pay a sum to his family and still leave him wealthy beyond his dreams.
The money was the academy's anyway, so I don't really care about giving him so much.
He accepted. I penned a letter to the Academy, announcing both my survival and my decision to employ an assistant.
Then I reserved us lodging in the finest inn the city had to offer. A twin room, of course—I am not reckless. Not yet.
He collapsed the moment his head touched the pillow, asleep before I could say another word. Watching him breathe softly in the lamplight, I decided the detailed conversations could wait. Tomorrow, he would wake as my apprentice. And one day soon, he would understand what it meant that my dark elf instincts had chosen him.