Chapter 42 – “Let’s go inside.”
Perri’s path from Level 11 to Level 14 takes two weeks.
Two weeks of torchlight, blood, grit, and the same jagged cavern mouth waiting for us every morning like a wound that refuses to close.
Solo leveling as a healer is hard.
Brutal, really.
Most healers don’t level like this. They stand in the back. They mend wounds after someone else takes the hit, after someone else draws the blood, after someone else becomes the wall between them and death.
Not our Perri.
Not anymore.
She goes into Kobold Caverns with her ears pinned tight, the Ashwood Prism Staff clutched in both hands, and that new fire burning behind her green eyes.
She still gets scared.
She just stops letting fear decide.
So every morning, we return to Kobold Caverns.
Every morning, she steps into the dark.
Every morning, Ed follows.
Day 1: She flinches when the first screech comes, but only once. Then the Ashwood Prism Staff glows in her hands. Sacred Flame. The kobold burns. Perri doesn’t cry this time. She roars. Ed stands behind her, silent as bone and roses, and doesn’t move.
Day 3: A spear grazes her cheek, bright blood against pale skin. Ed’s vines twitch, but Perri doesn’t look back. Radiant Shield before the second thrust. Sacred Flame through the opening. Prayer of Healing only after the danger passes. Shield. Strike. Heal. Cleaner now. Still ugly. Still hers.
Day 5: A kobold spear punches into her thigh, and the sound she makes nearly breaks me. She pulls it free with both hands, plants the staff, heals, and keeps moving. That night, Kit massages her shoulders in silence while Raka watches from across the fire and murmurs, “She’s tougher than all of us.” No one argues.
Day 7: Three kobolds in a narrow tunnel leave her bleeding hard enough that I almost move. She finishes the last one with Sacred Flame while one hand is pressed to her side, holding herself together until she can heal. The HUD blooms. [Perri — Level 12] She laughs, not because it’s funny, but because she is one step closer.
Day 9: She starts chaining without thinking. Radiant Shield before the blade. Sacred Flame through the opening. Prayer of Healing after the hit. Again. Again. Again. The kobolds hesitate when she steps into the torchlight now. They’re starting to fear her. Not Ed. Her.
Day 11:[Perri — Level 13] comes after a fight she wins with blood in one eye and both hands locked around the Ashwood Prism Staff. She sees the notification, breathes once, and keeps walking. No celebration. No collapse. Just forward.
Day 14: The last fight of the day is another kobold Elite in a low chamber that smells like wet stone and rusted iron. It drives her Radiant Shield back three steps, cracks gold across the barrier, and makes Ed shift behind her. My hand twitches toward Stormcast, lightning already gathering under my skin, but Perri bares her teeth and says, “No.” Then she surges through the opening, cracks the Ashwood Prism Staff across its skull, and drops Sacred Flame on it until the Elite hits the stone smoking.
The HUD blooms.
[Perri — Level 14]
Perri stands over the body, trembling, blood on her face, light still burning in her staff.
“You don’t touch my family.”
Then she sways.
I catch her before she falls.
That evening, the mouth of Kobold Caverns yawns behind us as Perri stumbles into the open air, the Ashwood Prism Staff clutched in both hands like a queen’s scepter. Her ears droop from exhaustion, her legs barely hold beneath her, but there’s a glow in her eyes now.
Not innocence. Not fear.
Fire.
Kit and Raka see us from the road and start toward her at once. Kit moves first, fast and sharp with worry, while Raka follows close behind, golden eyes already scanning for blood, wounds, anything that needs protecting.
Then both of them slow.
They see it too.
The way Perri holds herself. The way the staff rests in her grip. The way fear still lives in her, but no longer owns her.
Kit’s voice comes soft. “Sweet moon…”
Raka’s jaw tightens, pride cutting through the worry.
Perri looks up at them, filthy, blood-streaked, glowing faintly in the late day light.
Then she smiles.
Small. Exhausted. Real.
Kit swallows, amber eyes shining. “She’s almost ready to stand with us now.”
And she is. Almost.
One level left.
That night, the apartment glows with firelight and the smell of roasted herbs.
The table seems too small for four, but somehow that makes it better. Kit is half in my lap before dinner even starts, claiming she is only making room. Raka takes the chair nearest the door out of habit, broad shoulders relaxed for once, though her eyes still keep drifting to Perri like she expects the little rabbit to fall over if no one watches her carefully enough.
Perri perches on her chair with her feet tucked beneath her, wrapped in a blanket despite the warmth of the room. Her cheeks are flushed, her ears droop with exhaustion, and every so often her fingers twitch like they are still expecting the Ashwood Prism Staff to be in her hands. The staff rests against the wall nearby, polished clean but somehow still carrying the weight of the caverns.
For a while, she just stares at the meal.
Bread. Stew. Roasted vegetables. A few sweet rolls Kit absolutely did not steal from the market earlier, no matter how innocent she looks when I glance her way.
Then Perri looks up at us, eyes bright and overwhelmed.
“I did it,” she whispers.
Her voice cracks on the words.
“Level fourteen.”
The bond catches the pride swelling in her chest, bright enough to hurt. Not clean pride. Not easy pride. The kind with blood under it. The kind that cost something.
Kit lifts her glass toward Perri with a grin that starts sly and turns soft halfway through.
“You didn’t just do it,” she says. “You tore through those caverns like sunlight through fog. Braver than half the idiots in this town.”
She pauses, amber eyes flicking over Perri’s exhausted little face.
“Maybe more than half.”
Perri goes pink immediately, but she doesn’t shrink from it this time. She presses both hands around her cup and ducks her head, smiling into the rim like she is trying to hide how badly the praise lands.
Raka leans forward, forearms braced on the table. “You kept standing,” she says simply.
That does more than Kit’s teasing did.
Perri looks up.
Raka’s golden eyes hold hers, steady and serious. “That matters. Not the level. Not the kills. You kept standing.”
The room goes quiet for a breath.
Then Perri nods, small and shaky, and the bond warms around all of us.
I reach across the table and rest my hand over hers. Her fingers curl around mine at once, still cold despite the fire.
“You’re not done,” I tell her gently. “One more level before the subclass choice. One more step before you stand with us for real.”
“I know,” she says.
No stammer this time.
Just tired certainty.
Then her thumb brushes over my knuckles, and her voice softens.
“But I’m closer.”
Kit’s tail curls behind her chair. Raka gives a low approving rumble. And I sit there with all three of them around our too-small table, listening to the fire crackle and feeling the bond settle into something warm, bruised, and alive.
I raise my glass last.
“To Perri,” I say.
Her eyes lift to mine at once.
“The light in our darkness. Our healer. Our heart.” My voice catches just enough that I feel Kit’s attention sharpen and Raka’s warmth steady beside me. “And soon, our equal on the field.”
The words ripple through the bond.
Perri shivers like my pride hits her as something physical, something warm enough to wrap around her shoulders and pull her close. Her ears tremble. Her breath catches. For a second, she just stares at me with those bright green eyes, overwhelmed all over again.
“I…” She bites her lip, eyes shimmering. “I want to belong.”
Her fingers tighten around her cup.
“Completely.”
The word lands softly.
Then warmer.
Not innocent exactly. Not anymore.
Kit notices first, her smile turns slow as she slides her chair closer until her shoulder brushes Perri’s. “You already belong, little bunny,” she murmurs. “But if you’re looking for extra proof…”
Perri squeaks, pink rushing up her cheeks and all the way to the tips of her ears.
Raka gives Kit a low, warning rumble, though the grin pulling at her mouth ruins most of the threat. “Careful. You’re going to make her burst into flames.”
“Radiantly, I hope,” Kit says.
Perri makes another tiny noise, but she doesn’t pull away.
That matters.
She leans closer instead, not to Kit this time.
To me.
Her fingers find mine under the table, shy and trembling, but there. Through the bond, I feel the shape of it: nervousness, curiosity, want, and that same fierce need that has carried her through two weeks of blood and torchlight.
“Master…” Her voice is soft enough that the room seems to lean in around it. “Do you think I’m ready?”
The way she says ready makes my pulse jump.
I look at her for a long moment, at the blush on her cheeks, the exhaustion under her eyes, the fire still glowing beneath both.
Then I squeeze her hand gently.
“For what, little rabbit?”
Her breath catches.
Kit’s tail flicks behind her chair.
Raka’s golden eyes gleam in the lamplight.
And the apartment, warm and crowded and ours, waits with us.
For a while, the apartment stays loud in the best way, all soft teasing, clinking cups, Kit making Perri blush every time the little rabbit tries to pretend she does not understand what is being implied. Raka sits back with a rare, lazy grin, one arm hooked over the back of her chair, watching Perri like she is proud and worried at the same time.
But eventually, even the flirting runs out of places to hide.
Perri gets quieter.
Not unhappy.
Just full. Overwhelmed by the level, the toast, the praise, the way the bond keeps wrapping all of it around her heart until she looks like she might cry if anyone is too kind to her.
I know the feeling.
So I slip out to the balcony before I can start brooding at the table like an idiot.
The night air cools my face. Marrowpine murmurs below, all distant voices, wagon wheels, chimney smoke, and the occasional bark of laughter spilling out from some tavern down the road. I brace my forearms on the railing and stare out over the rooftops, letting the quiet settle around me.
Behind me, the apartment softens.
Kit says something low. Raka answers with a rumble. Chairs scrape. Footsteps shift. Then the door to the bedroom closes.
A few minutes pass.
Then the bond trembles.
Soft.
Hesitant.
Hopeful.
I turn.
Perri stands in the balcony doorway.
Bare feet silent on the floorboards. Her ears twitch nervously, half-lifted and half-ready to fold. She is wearing a pale nightdress, thin and soft enough for the moonlight to turn it almost silver around her small frame. It makes her look delicate in a way the caverns tried very hard to strip from her.
But not fragile.
Not anymore.
Her hands twist together at her waist, and she looks at me like she is standing at the edge of another dungeon entirely.
“Perri?”
My voice comes out low. I straighten slowly, feeling the shift in the air, the way the night suddenly feels heavy with something unsaid.
She takes one tiny step forward. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Behind her, Kit appears in the doorway for just a heartbeat, amber eyes bright with that knowing little look of hers. She does not say much. She does not need to.
“She wanted to see you, Master,” Kit murmurs.
Then Kit vanishes into the dark apartment, leaving me alone with the trembling rabbit girl.
“I… I did,” she admits, barely louder than the wind.
She shakes her head slowly, ears twitching as if they can’t decide whether to flatten or perk. Her fingers knot nervously in the hem of that almost-not-there fabric. Then she steps onto the balcony, and the light takes her—curves outlined in starlight, a whisper of lace teasing over her hips. The sheer fabric brushes against her thighs, teasing the outline of rabbit-like legs that are far too strong for someone so small.
Innocence draped over temptation.
She hugs her arms to herself, then seems to realize what she is doing and slowly lets them fall.
“I wanted to thank you,” she says. Her voice shakes, but she keeps going. “For not giving up on me. For believing in me when I didn’t.”
Her words trail off, but the bond screams the truth:
Fear. Desire. Longing so raw it makes my breath hitch.
And under all of it, something warmer.
Something she is choosing to let me feel.
My Smoldering Gaze stirs under my skin on instinct, hungry and familiar.
I clamp it down.
Not tonight.
Not like that.
I take one slow step toward her. Then another.
She does not move away.
“Perri,” I murmur.
Her breath hitches. Her steps falter, but forward they come anyway, pulling her closer by choice, not magic. The nightdress doesn’t hide her trembling, and gods, the way the sheer fabric outlines the sweet, modest slope of her curves makes restraint feel like a punishment.
"M-Master…"
The word escapes her lips like a confession.
I lift my hand and stop just short of her cheek, giving her the space to pull back.
She doesn’t.
Instead, she leans into my palm before I even touch her.
My fingers brush the soft warmth of her face, and she exhales like she has been holding her breath for weeks. Her eyes flutter shut, ears drooping slightly as the last of her tension spills out in one shivering breath.
“Perri… you went through fire these past few weeks,” I say, voice rougher than I intend. “You bled. You cried. You got back up anyway.”
Her lower lip trembles.
“That is strength,” I tell her. “Not never being afraid. Not never breaking. Standing back up when everything in you wants to stay down.”
Her eyes open again, wet and bright in the moonlight.
“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” she whispers.
The words hurt more than they should.
I slide my thumb gently along her cheek. “You could never disappoint me.”
The words melt her.
She folds forward in a sudden, desperate embrace, arms wrapping around my waist as if clinging to the promise of them. I hold her, arms encircling her small frame, feeling the shiver in her body and knowing it is not from the cold.
“You belong,” I whisper against her hair. “Not because you hit Level 14. Not because you fought. Not because you proved anything to me.”
Her fingers tighten in my shirt.
“You belong because you’re ours.”
The bond warms between us, deep and aching.
“And because you chose us back.”
She pulls away just enough to look up at me.
Moonlight glistens on her lashes. Her cheeks are flushed, her breath uneven, but there is no confusion in her eyes now. No panic. No cage. No cavern.
Just want.
“Master…” she whispers.
The kiss doesn’t come right away. It lingers at the edge of everything as I lean close, my lips near her ear. "You’re safe, little rabbit. With us. Always."
Her eyes close.
A tear slips down her cheek, but she is smiling when it falls.
From inside, I feel Kit’s warmth through the bond, sly and tender. Raka’s too, steady as a hand at our backs.
Perri feels them too.
I know she does.
Her fingers lace with mine. She rises on her toes, moonlight shining along the wet rims of her eyes, and then, softly, almost shyly, her lips touch mine.
The kiss is small at first.
Trembling.
Chosen.
I answer gently, letting her set the shape of it, letting her feel every second of control she has over the moment.
When she pulls back, her forehead rests against my chest.
“Can we go inside?” she asks softly.
I squeeze her hand.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Let’s go inside.”
She moves first, fingers still laced with mine as she leads me back into the apartment.
The kitchen is quiet, washed in moonlight and the faint gold glow from the banked fire. Perri keeps looking at me like she’s afraid the moment might vanish if she blinks too hard. We make it only a few steps inside before the back of her legs brush the edge of the wooden table.
She freezes.
But she doesn’t pull away.
Her wide green eyes lock on mine, pupils blown dark, breath trembling between us.
The heat in the bond deepens, soft and aching, curling through her nerves until I feel the shiver pass through both of us. She bends her knees just enough, and I understand.
I lift her carefully onto the table like she weighs nothing at all.
Perri gasps when the cool wood meets the backs of her thighs, small hands flying to my shoulders for balance as my breath ghosts against her neck.
The pale nightdress shifts around her, moonlight turning the thin fabric silver where it clings to her frame. She looks nervous. Beautiful. Brave.
“Perri,” I murmur, stopping close enough for my breath to brush her cheek. “We can stop right here.”
Her fingers tighten on my shoulders.
She shakes her head.
Not much.
Enough.
“I don’t want to stop,” she whispers.
The words hit the bond like a match dropped into dry grass.
I swallow hard and make myself move slowly.
My hands settle at her waist first, steadying her, giving her time to breathe. She watches every movement, cheeks flushed, ears trembling, but when my thumbs brush over her sides, she leans into the touch instead of away from it.
“Master…” she whispers.
The word is shaky.
Chosen.
I lean in, and she meets me halfway.
The kiss starts small, soft enough to break if either of us breathes wrong. Then her hands slide up behind my neck, and the bond opens wider, spilling warmth and want and the fragile, shining trust she has been building one impossible step at a time.
I keep one hand at her back and the other against her cheek, letting her feel the shape of the moment without rushing her through it. Letting her know she can still choose.
Again.
Again.
Always.
When my mouth leaves hers, I press a kiss to her brow instead of chasing lower. Her breath catches anyway, and she looks up at me with tears shining in her lashes.
“I’ve never…” she starts.
“I know,” I say gently.
Her lips tremble.
“I want to belong completely.”
My chest tightens.
“You already do.”
“I know.” Her voice grows softer, but steadier. “That’s why I want this.”
That undoes me more than any blush, any lace, any trembling little sound ever could.
The kitchen feels small now, every shadow breathing heat. Moonlight pools over her pale thighs as my hands drift to her hips, and Perri shivers like the touch runs straight through the bond and down into her bones.
I lean in, and her lips part before mine even find them. Soft at first. Unsure. Then melting when my mouth claims hers properly, when her fingers clutch at my shoulders and drag me closer with a need she is done trying to hide.
The kiss deepens, slow and hungry, until her breath breaks against mine and her small frame arches into me like she has been waiting forever to stop being brave and start being wanted.
The wood creaks softly beneath her as I settle her onto the table. Her hands tighten on me, startled by the cool surface, by the heat between us, by the way the bond hums like wildfire with every heartbeat. My hands slide over her hips, down trembling thighs, drawing her closer until there is no space left for doubt.
“Master…” she whispers.
It does not sound like a question anymore.
My mouth leaves hers, trailing along her jaw, her throat, the soft hollow beneath her ear. Every breath she takes turns thinner, sweeter, more helplessly honest. When my teeth graze her collarbone, her fingers knot in my hair, not to stop me.
To hold on.
The nightdress shifts beneath my hands, pale fabric catching moonlight before it gives way to warmth, skin, and the shivering truth of her. Perri trembles, but she does not hide. Not from me. Not from the bond. Not from the want blooming through her like light through a cracked door.
The wood creaks softly beneath her as I settle her on the table, hands sliding up over trembling knees. Her breath stutters, fast and shallow, as my fingers trace the sheer edge of fabric, lifting it slowly, deliberately, until the nightdress bunches at her waist.
My hands roam with purpose, over her hips, down her trembling thighs, fingers curving beneath to lift her slightly, pulling her forward until her body molds against mine. The heat where my palms grip her bare skin is a brand; the bond hums like wildfire, every heartbeat syncing tighter.
The nightdress surrenders easily to my hands now. A single tug, and the delicate fabric slips up, over, gone, fluttering like a ghost into the shadows. And there she is. Pale curves bared to the moonlight, small but perfect, the subtle rise of her breasts catching silver fire.
I pause—just for a breath—taking her in. Worship in my eyes, hunger in my bones. My thumbs trace the soft weight of her breasts, teasing, circling until her whimpers turn into shaky, breathless gasps. Her nipples bloom beneath my touch—tight, aching, begging.
“Please…” The word is a whisper I almost miss, but the way her hips shift—instinctive, desperate—says everything.
My hand trails down, slow as sin, over her belly, past the soft dip of her navel, until my fingers brush heat—slick, trembling heat. I stroke once, feather-light, and her entire body jolts like lightning just kissed her spine.
Her head falls back, ears quivering, lips parted in a soundless cry. Then I press in slow circles, my fingers learning every secret as her thighs open inviting, her breath gasping already as she lies back on the table
I murmur against her ear—low, velvet, a promise:
“Be brave… little rabbit.”
She nods as her eyes roll back into her smile.
My eyes never leave hers as my mouth joins my fingers in a dance.
As the rhythm carries her over…
A sound rips out of her like a prayer and a scream all at once, her back arching hard enough to nearly throw her off the table as wet heat floods over my mouth. Her whole body shakes, ears trembling wildly as her nails scratch against the wood. And then—
The bond erupts.
I feel everything: her wonder, her fear melting into molten bliss, the white-hot shock of something so good it makes her cry out my name until it’s just sound and pleasure. The link flares like fire and light, pouring through Kit and Raka as they jolt awake, flushed, breathless, and feeling the echo in the other room.
When she finally collapses against the table, chest heaving, tears shining at the corners of her eyes, I ease my lips from her, to rise and whisper softly against her ear:
“I’ve got you, little rabbit.”