Chapter 36 – The Long Way Up
The light spills through the cracked shutters like molten gold, catching the edges of scattered clothes, empty mugs, and the warm tangle of bodies on the harem bed.
My arm is still draped lazily across Kit’s waist when I feel a little twitch—Perri, curled like a sleepy kitten on my chest, lets out a soft sigh and nuzzles closer. Raka, sprawled to one side like a lounging predator, cracks one golden eye and grumbles when I give her a playful squeeze.
“Up,” I murmur, mock stern, tracing a slow hand along a curve I know will make them squirm. “Busy day ahead.”
Kit groans into the pillow. “You’re cruel.”
Raka stretches like a wolf after a long hunt, muscles rippling as she lets out a low, satisfied growl. “Cruel… but right.”
And then there’s Perri, blinking at the sudden brightness, ears twitching wildly as she clings tighter to me.
“N-Nooo… bed… feels so warm,” she mumbles through a pout, the bond radiating that addictive rush of comfort and belonging she’s still drowning in.
I grin, tugging her gently upright. “Careful, little rabbit. That’s the harem buff hitting you hard. We’ll get back to it tonight… if you behave.”
The protests are soft but genuine. Raka gives me a toothy smirk as she slides out of bed—completely unconcerned with modesty—while Kit lingers, catching my wrist and pulling me in for a kiss before she finally rises with a satisfied flick of her tail.
The Feisty Dwarf is already buzzing by the time we come down the stairs. Raka takes the lead without even meaning to, broad shoulders, hide armor, and that natural predator confidence making space for the rest of us. Kit moves beside her like she was born from shadow and silver, while Perri stays tucked close to my side, ears high and twitching at everything.
The smells hit first: roasting meat, spiced porridge, fresh bread, and that rich dwarven ale scent that promises bad decisions before noon. Near the hearth, a bard plucks out something jaunty on his lute, the tune half-buried under laughter, clattering mugs, and the steady roar of a tavern already fully alive.
We claim a corner table, and when the Busty Barmaid flashes me a grin on her way past, Kit cuts a subtle glance her way that almost makes me laugh. I keep my attention where it belongs as plates start arriving, hot and piled high.
Perri’s eyes go wide.
Through the bond, it hits me all at once: gratitude, nerves, wonder, and that tiny spark of joy she still doesn’t know what to do with. Beside her, Raka tears into a bone-in haunch like dignity was never invited to breakfast, grease catching at the edge of her chin.
Kit nudges Perri with a grin. “Careful, little rabbit. Blink wrong and she might eat you next.”
Raka lets out a low growl, lips curling into that dangerous smile of hers… then winks at Perri.
Perri goes pink all the way to the tips of her ears.
I flick the HUD open over breakfast and pull Perri’s status into view.
Perri
[(Bonded Companion) | Tier 1 | Level 1]
Race: Callin (Rabbitfolk)
Class: Light Priest
Subclass: — (Unlocks at Level 15)
My eyes catch on the same line twice.
Level 1.
The little rabbit was about as far from Briar Witch-ready as a girl could get.
Which meant, starting now, getting her there was on us.
“Perri, we have a long way to go to bring you up to our level, so I’m going to need you to be brave and work hard.” Looking at her with promise and support, I add, “We can’t fight with you… but we’ll be right there with you for every step.”
“I’ll try hard… I promise,” she says, looking back at us with timid determination.
The bond flashes warmth from Raka, unexpected support. “She’s small, but she’s pack now. We train her. Hard.”
I smile warmly, pushing my chair back and standing with a dramatic flourish. “Then it’s settled. We finish here, get some gear for Perri, then hit the Slime Meadows to have her face off against the deadly Blue Bubble Slimes!”
Perri gulps and looks up at me with those wide, innocent eyes. “…And if I die?”
I crouch, resting a hand gently on her shoulder. “I swear, little rabbit… no one has ever died to the Deadly Blue Bubble Slimes. Unless it was from laughter, of course. They aren’t dangerous per se, just very… um.”
Kit nearly spits her drink out laughing. “Blue… and sticky.” She leans in toward Perri, eyes glinting with mischief. “You hear that, bunny? Worst case, you come back looking like a tiefling’s dream candle.”
Perri’s ears go flat, her cheeks turning a soft rosy pink. Through the bond, I feel a swirl of embarrassment and mild horror… but under it, a flicker of determination.
“I… I can handle sticky,” she mumbles, almost to herself.
Raka smirks, thumping her heavy mug down. “Slimes are good first prey. Soft, slow… and kinda tasty.” Her golden eyes slide to me. “But if she freezes, if she panics, then…”
“She won’t,” I cut in confidently. “But yes, if she does, she’ll be sticky and delicious.”
“Through the bond, I feel Perri catch our mirth, doesn’t quite get the joke yet, but understands that she won’t be in any real danger… at least not physically.
“I’ll be fighting… alone?”
“We can’t fight with you,” I say, looking at her steadily. “Not in there. If we touch a single slime, the level gap will gut the XP and you won’t gain a thing. So this part? You do the fighting. We stay close. We coach. We pull you out if it goes bad.”
Threads of Fortune
The warmth of the Feisty Dwarf fades behind us as we step back into the market, weaving through carts and shouting vendors until we reach Threads of Fortune. The smell hits first, dyed cloth, leather oil, and that strange middle ground between elegance and practicality. Inside, the merchant looks up the moment we enter. Her eyes move over the four of us in a single pass, sharp and measured, and pause on Perri just long enough to take in the whole problem.
“Well now,” she says calmly. “New girl.”
Perri’s ears twitch.
I nod once. “She needs something light. Built to move. Built to survive.”
The merchant steps around the counter and crouches just enough to study Perri at eye level, not unkind, just exact. “Rabbitfolk. Small frame. Fast feet. Nervous hands.” Her gaze lifts briefly to me. “So. You want her protected without drowning her in cloth.”
“Exactly.”
Kit is already halfway to the racks. “And cute,” she says over her shoulder. “Don’t forget cute.”
The merchant’s mouth curves faintly. “That part tends to take care of itself.”
Perri goes pink immediately.
What follows is less a fitting and more a gentle ambush. Kit keeps sweeping pieces up and holding them to Perri one after another, dark blue, pale cream, soft grey, one deep red thing that makes Perri squeak and hide behind an armful of fabric while Raka watches with open amusement from the wall. Then the merchant steps in, plucks a different set from the shelf, and hands it over. “This one.” Perri disappears behind the curtain.
A moment later, Kit smiles toward it. “Come on, bunny. Let us see.”
The fabric parts, and Perri steps out slowly.
The outfit lands exactly where it should, light, fitted, and made to move. A cropped cream wrap top draws soft lines across her torso without weighing her down. Black fitted shorts hug close at the hips, practical enough for movement while still showing off the white fur of her legs. Over it all hangs a dark, flowing jacket with layered shoulders and long trailing panels that frame her instead of swallowing her, giving her just enough mystery to sharpen the softness underneath. Nothing about it reads heavy. Nothing about it reads fragile either.
It reads like her.
Her long ears twitch nervously as she smooths a hand over one side of the jacket. “Is... is it okay?”
Then, smaller:
“Do I look like an adventurer?”
Kit whistles low. “Sweet moon, bunny.”
Raka’s arms fold across her chest, grin slow and approving. “Quick little thing,” she murmurs. “Looks like she could actually move.”
I smile before I can help it. “You look like you belong out there.”
That hits her harder than the compliment should. The blush climbs all the way up her ears.
The merchant adjusts one shoulder seam, checks the fit once, then steps back with a single satisfied nod.
“There,” she says. “Now she looks like she belongs out there.”
“How much?” I ask, a little concerned.
“It’s mine,” she says. “Mastercrafted light cloth. Cut to move, built to last, and made to match the standard you’ve already set for the rest of them.”
“So... expensive for cloth armor.”
“A little.”
Before I can answer, she reaches back to the shelf, pulls down a small stack of softer folded pieces, and sets them beside the armor.
“And these,” she says. “If she’s wearing fitted cloth, she’ll want proper layers underneath. Less friction. Better fit. Better movement.”
Perri’s ears jump. “I-I already have underthings.”
Kit slides in immediately, grin sharpening. “Not good ones, you don’t.”
The merchant says nothing, which somehow makes it worse.
Raka picks up a dark little bundle between two fingers, glances at it, then at Perri. “This one’s for later.”
Perri makes a strangled squeak and goes scarlet.
I clear my throat. “The important part is comfort.”
Kit looks at me, delighted. “Mm. Comfort.”
A few minutes later, the armor is packed, the extra layers are bundled with it, and Perri is still blushing hard enough to light the whole front of the shop.
The Measured Sigil
The shop smells like cedar and old parchment, the kind of place where magic hums quietly in every groove of the wood. Staves line the racks in careful rows, gnarled lengths of oak, polished rods with silver caps, slender wands too delicate for real fieldwork, and a few gilded ceremonial things that look more suited to posing than surviving.
The tiefling at the counter looks up as we enter, eyes sharp and faintly disapproving before he says a word. I motion toward Perri. “We’re here for a mastercrafted staff. Something she’ll grow into.” My gaze moves over the racks. “Something light. Something she can actually hold without tipping over.”
His eyes flick to Perri, then back to me. “A mastercrafted focus,” he says smoothly, “for an obvious novice.” It isn’t quite a question. More a judgment dressed as one.
Perri’s ears dip at once.
I keep my tone even. “That’s right.”
The Arcana Vendor studies her for a moment, taking in the nervous hands, the small frame, the way she hovers like the room itself might reject her. “For most beginners,” he says, voice dry as old parchment, “I would recommend something cheaper. Blunter. More disposable. Something they can drop in the mud, misuse entirely, and outgrow before they learn which end points at the heavens.”
Kit grins at once. “And for her?”
His mouth barely moves. “For her, apparently, we are committing to excellence before experience.”
Raka snorts.
Then the Arcana Vendor turns and selects a staff from farther down the rack, something simple and unassuming. Ashwood, smooth through the grip, with tiny silver runes spiraling up toward a small prism set at the tip. Barely taller than Perri herself, but when he places it across his palms, I can feel the faint hum of focus magic running through it.
“Ashwood Prism,” he says. “Mastercrafted. As requested. Light enough for a small frame, balanced for clean channeling, and far more staff than a novice strictly deserves.”
His crimson eyes lift to mine.
“If,” he adds smoothly, “you have the coin.”
I take it, test the balance once, and flick the HUD over it.
[Ashwood Prism Staff (Tier 1 – Mastercrafted)]
Right.
Then I turn toward her. “Come here, Perri.”
Perri pads over on soft feet, hands clasped nervously at her chest. When I place the staff into her grip, her fingers curl around it like it’s a lifeline. The bond flares warm at once, wonder blooming through her so suddenly it almost steals my breath. It feels young. Bright. Like the first snowfall landing in open hands.
“It’s... mine?” she whispers.
“Yours,” I say, lowering my voice as I adjust her hold and tilt the staff gently into place. “The first real tool of your calling. Treat it well, and it won’t fail you.”
The Arcana Vendor steps closer, corrects her grip with crisp, exact movements, and nods once. “Try not to hold it like it might apologize,” he says.
Raka grins, showing a little tooth. “Looks like a stick. Hope she can swing it if the healing runs out.”
Perri squeaks, then tightens her grip and lifts her chin anyway. “I... I’ll heal so well you’ll never need to see me hit anything!”
Kit leans against a shelf, smirking. “There it is. Little bunny’s got a backbone after all.”
I watch Perri cradle the staff like it’s something sacred, and through the bond I feel it settling into her, not confidence yet, not fully, but the beginning of it. Still small. Still frightened. Still fragile in places.
But there’s a spark there now.
And this time, we’re going to feed it.
...Or not.
Slime Meadows
Kit and Raka sit under a tree near the fence line, looking hopeful but obviously concerned. I watch Perri’s XP bar in the HUD like a pot that refuses to boil.
She’s been at the slimes all morning.
Four.
The little rabbit has killed four.
She’s blue, sticky, probably delicious...
and at this rate, Briar Witch is going to die of old age before we get there.
...and that’s when it hits me.
An idea so devious, chilling, and perfect that I smile like a villain myself.
“Girls!” I call, sudden and sharp with excitement.
The bond is practically glowing with how pleased I am with myself. They all feel it.
Kit comes first, suspicious immediately. Raka follows with the slow, wary look she gets when she thinks I’m about to say something dangerous.
And then there’s Perri, still blue, still sticky, still adorable, hurrying over with wide eyes and a confused little twitch of her ears.
“It’s not Perri’s determination I’m worried about,” I say. “It’s XP.”
Their expressions shift immediately, so I keep going.
“We need to power-level her. Because at this rate? It’ll be weeks, maybe months, before we get back to Bushman Forest.”
Kit is the first to narrow her eyes. “...Master. You already told her we can’t do that.”
Raka’s brow furrows. “Not with us fighting beside her.”
Perri’s ears dip. “Because of the level gap...?”
I nod once.
Kit folds her arms. “If we touch a single slime, we gut her XP.”
“To nothing,” Raka adds flatly.
Perri looks between us, nervous again. “Then... what are you smiling about?”
“I know, I know,” I say, holding up both hands. “Hear me out.”
“We can’t. But I know someone who can.”
My grin is horrifyingly smug.
“Someone who’ll eat slimes for breakfast, tear through kobolds without a second thought... and won’t steal a single point of her XP.”
They all stare at me like I’ve finally gone mad.
Which, to be fair, maybe I have.
“Who?” Kit and Raka ask together.