They spent the rest of the afternoon harvesting.
Yuki pulled baskets and carts from dimensional storage — mana-woven, sturdy, sized for carrying — and they moved from grove to grove. Oranges first, filling basket after basket with sunbloom citrus. Then the nuts — ironhearts shaken loose and gathered by the handful. The western orchard yielded crates of the apple-pear fruits and armfuls of the apricot things. The berries went into smaller containers — starberries, strawberry-cousins, the purple grape-vine clusters.
It was simple work. Repetitive. The kind of labour that left your hands busy and your mind free.
They talked while they picked. Not about magic or war or power scales. Normal things. She told him about the worst caravan route she'd ever travelled — a mountain pass in a blizzard, three wagons lost, her father cursing in four languages. He told her about memories of his past world, his school — tests he'd failed, friends he'd had, he left out the details about it being another world.
"You miss it," she said. Not a question.
"Every day."
She didn't push. Just picked berries beside him in comfortable silence.
He deposited everything into dimensional storage as they went. Baskets of fruit, crates of nuts, bundles of berries — all of it vanishing into folded space. By late afternoon, he'd stored more produce than Varlen's entire caravan could carry.
"We should spend the night," Lira said, looking at the lowering sun. "If that's okay."
"Yeah. I'll cook."
"You cook?"
"I make a decent stew. I told you."
He cooked. She was right to be skeptical — "decent" was generous. But the ingredients were fresh, the meat was dragon steak from his storage, and the sunbloom citrus added something bright and complex to the broth that elevated the whole thing.
They ate on the roof patio. His old spot. Stone surface still warm from the day's sun, the homestead spreading out below them, the sky shifting from gold to violet.
Lira leaned against the low parapet at the roof's edge, looking out over the land. The groves were dark shapes against the fading light. The canals caught the last colour of sunset. The perimeter wall was a grey band at the horizon, holding back the forest's shadow.
Yuki watched her from across the roof and forgot how to breathe.
The wind caught her hair — down, loose, dark against the darkening sky. It moved across her shoulders in slow waves. The blue stone at her throat pulsed in time with her heartbeat. Her profile was sharp and soft at the same time — the clean line of her jaw, the slight upturn of her nose, the way her lashes caught the last light when she blinked.
She was beautiful. He'd known that since the first day. But standing here, in his home, with the sunset behind her and the world quiet — it hit different. Deeper. The kind of beautiful that made his chest ache and his face go hot and his five parallel thought threads agree unanimously that he was in serious trouble.
She turned and caught him staring. He looked away too late.
"Red again," she said softly.
He didn't deny it.
She turned back to the view. Quiet for a moment.
"No wonder you didn't want the barony," she said. "Or the land. Or the titles. You already have all of this." She gestured at the homestead — the groves, the canals, the garden, the wall. "You built a kingdom for yourself."
"It's just a home."
"It's incredible, Yuki." She paused. "But you're all alone here." She turned to face him fully. "Weren't you lonely?"
The question cracked something open.
He sat down on the roof's edge. Looked at his hands. The same hands that had built this place, stone by stone, tree by tree. The same hands that had eaten every meal alone for months.
"Yeah," he said. "I was lonely."
The words came easier than he expected. He decided it was okay to tell her a little more about himself.
"I'm not from this world, Lira. Not from east of the Ashspine. Not from any country on this continent. I'm from somewhere else entirely."
She was quiet. Listening.
"Something happened. A summoning gone wrong, probably. Mages — I don't know who, I don't know where — cast a spell to pull someone from my world into this one. Maybe it was a hero summoning. But they messed it up. The spell broke mid-cast and I got scattered. Instead of arriving where they wanted me, I appeared in the sky above this forest and fell."
He told her. Not everything — not the technical details, not the full scope of his power. But the shape of it. The fall. Waking up in the dead zone. The months alone, learning magic, building the homestead. The dead forest he'd accidentally created. The decision to leave and find people.
"Your caravan was the first sign of human life I found. After months of being completely alone here, I had finally learned teleportation magic. I decided it was time to travel and that if anything happened I could now always return home. I followed the road and there you were." He looked at her. "I got lucky."
Lira hadn't moved. She stood against the parapet, the last light of the sunset behind her, and he couldn't read her expression.
"Another world," she said.
"Yeah."
"That's why you don't have a history. Why no one knows you. Why you can do things that no one else can do."
"Yeah, I suppose so."
"And the summoners who pulled you here — they're still out there. Looking for you."
"Hm, I assume so? Or maybe they think I never arrived? Who knows?"
She was quiet for a long time. The sky shifted from violet to deep blue. The first stars appeared.
Then she stepped forward.
She crossed the space between them and stood in front of him. Close. Her head up came to his chest — she had to tilt her face up to meet his eyes. The blue stone pulsed between them.
"You're not alone anymore," she said.
She rose onto her tiptoes. Leaned in.
He wrapped his arms around her waist. Gently. Like she was something precious that he didn't want to break. She was warm against him — warm and real and here, in the home he'd built for himself in a world that wasn't his.
He bent down slightly. His forehead touched hers. Her breath was on his lips.
She closed the distance.
The kiss was soft. Slow. Not the quick press on the cheek from before the battle — this was deliberate. Her hands found his jaw. His arms tightened around her. The world narrowed to the warmth of her mouth and the pulse of the stone between them and the sound of the wind through the groves below.
It lasted a long time.
When they finally pulled apart, she stayed close — forehead against his chin, hands on his chest, breathing unsteadily.
"For the record," she murmured, "I knew you were from somewhere else the moment I met you. Nobody from this world is that bad at hiding their feelings."
He laughed. Quiet, shaky, and real.
She looked up at him. Green-gold eyes, bright with something that made every month of loneliness worth surviving.
"Don't disappear on me," she said.
"I won't."
They stayed on the roof until the stars filled the sky. Her head on his shoulder. His arm around her. The homestead quiet and alive beneath them.
For the first time since he'd arrived in this world, Yuki wasn't alone.