The question—and the voice in his head—made Rayne's expression twist.
"I haven't even experienced a romantic love triangle, and now I'm stuck in a dragon one?"
Battlero, overhearing the exchange, subtly pivoted toward the Moonlight Blossoms.
"Best not to get involved," he decided, eyeing the bear embedded in the cliff. "Unless I want to join that thing."
"How... amusing*,"* Ddraig's voice dripped with lethal calm. "A mere whelp dares insult me*?"*
Had she a physical form, Rayne suspected the valley would already be aflame.
"Sorry, Kanna's just—"
He faltered. Calling a centuries-old dragon a "child" felt absurd.
"That wasn't nice, Kanna," he amended. "She's a celestial dragon sealed in a Sacred Gear. Apologize."
"Oh. Sorry," Kanna chirped, utterly unrepentant.
"...Tch. Never mind."
Ddraig's irritation fizzled. The White Dragon Emperor had been a worthy rival. This? Felt like bullying a kitten.
"Where'd you learn 'homewrecker' anyway?" Rayne asked.
"Tohru said it when we played."
"That idiot..." He sighed. Tohru's habit of picking up human slang and regurgitating it to Kanna struck again.
"Rayne. Can we eat that?"
Kanna tugged his sleeve, pointing at the bear carcass.
"We could, but we didn't bring tools."
No knives. No seasonings. Just trail rations for a day trip.
"Hah! These blooms are pristine—thankfully untouched by that brute!"
Battlero's glee drew their attention. The herbalist brandished a sickle and trowel like sacred relics.
Kanna's eyes locked onto the sickle.
"Stare—"
An audible zooooom sound effect seemed to follow her gaze.
Rayne nodded at the tools.
"Want to try harvesting?" Battlero beamed.
"We want to butcher the bear."
"Over my dead body!" He clutched his tools protectively. "These are for herbs*!"*
Two pairs of eyes dimmed in synchronized disappointment.
"...But!" Battlero's tone shifted, adopting a mentor's cadence. "Let this old man teach you something."
From his basket, he produced a cloth bundle.
"Always pack seasonings and a knife in the wild. You never know."
He tossed it to Rayne. Inside: a compact blade and spice vials.
"Huh."
Rayne filed the advice alongside Battlero's earlier intel—always gather intel first—then marched toward the cliff.
Minutes later, he returned with a hefty slab of meat.
"Kanna, sniff out water."
Blood needed rinsing.
"Sniff-sniff—!"
Her nose twitched. Dragon senses pinpointed a stream nearby.
"Pathetic," Ddraig muttered. "Using draconic gifts for... this*."*
"Stay with Battlero. Defend him if needed," Rayne ordered before leaving.
The herbalist, now engrossed in harvesting, didn't notice until an aroma jolted him.
A campfire.
Rayne rotating skewers.
Kanna perched on a rock, tail wagging, saliva practically forming a tiny puddle.
"Join us," Rayne invited.
Battlero's stomach overruled pride.
The first bite made his eyebrows vanish into his hairline.
Charred perfection. Juices bursting with herb-infused richness.
"You cook like a chef, not a mage."
"Combat and cooking aren't so different," Rayne shrugged. "Adjust to the 'enemy'—in this case, heat."
Battlero gave up trying to parse wizard logic and surrendered to the feast.
Under the moonlight, amidst crackling flames, three figures devoured their spoils—one with significantly less table manners.
(Kanna's face: a stuffed hamster's. Ddraig's dignity: in tatters.)
(´꒳`)
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