Lucien felt the tug before his brain caught up, like a rope tied behind his ribs had just gone taut and yanked hard enough to make his next breath hitch.
Not pain, exactly. More like the Greed Bloodline had decided to play tug-of-war with something that wasn't gold or maps this time.
Elara. The camp. Her voice cutting through the morning haze in his head, sharp and stubborn.
She's out there alone, the thought landed flat, no drama, just fact.
The bond stretched again, pulling him toward the treeline like it had its own legs.
He was already moving before he finished the curse under his breath.
Nyx shifted mid-stride beside him, purple-pink fur exploding into fox shape, ears pinned back as she matched his pace.
The village square blurred past—old Tomás waving half-heartedly from his doorway, the blacksmith pausing mid-hammer like he sensed the shift in the air.
Lucien didn't stop to explain.
His boots hit the dirt path hard, lungs burning clean from three months of pocket-universe grinding, but the tug kept yanking, tighter now, like the bond had grown teeth overnight.
"She's being too brave," Nyx muttered, voice small and clipped in his ear, tail streaming behind her like a comet tail nobody asked for.
"Or too stupid. Hard to tell the difference when it's her."
Lucien didn't answer.
The camp smoke hit first—greasy, sour with last night's ale and unwashed wool.
Spears glinted ahead, the same bunch from yesterday but tighter now, like someone had lit a fire under their asses.
Elara stood in the middle, short sword out, blade trembling just enough to catch the light.
Her cloak hung crooked, hair stuck to her neck with sweat, but her chin stayed up.
The young captain from before—baby fat still clinging to his jaw, eyes already tired—faced her, hand on his own hilt like he wasn't sure if he should draw or just go home.
"I am the baron's daughter," Elara said, voice steady even if her knuckles went white.
"This ends here. No more trading me like spare change."
The captain let out a short laugh that cracked at the end, more nervous tic than real amusement.
One of the older soldiers shifted his weight, spear butt scraping dirt, muttering something about "noble brats" under his breath.
Lucien stepped out of the treeline right then, the bond giving one last hard pull that settled warm in his chest like it had found its anchor.
Nyx stayed low at his heel, fox form silent, golden eyes locked on Elara like she was calculating how fast she could bite if things went south.
The captain's head snapped toward him. "You again."
Lucien didn't slow.
He walked straight into the circle, boots kicking up the same dust he'd left behind yesterday, the kid's weight still a ghost memory on his shoulders.
Elara's eyes met his—relief flashing first, then something sharper, like she wanted to both hug him and shove him back toward the village.
The sword stayed up, tip steady now.
"My father doesn't command me anymore," she said, louder this time, words aimed at the captain but landing square on Lucien.
"Neither do you. Or your count. I choose where I stand."
The captain's laugh came again, weaker, thumb rubbing the pommel of his sword like it itched.
"Bold words for a runaway hiding behind an orphan with stolen tricks."
Lucien stopped between them, close enough that he could smell the faint lavender soap still clinging to Elara's skin under the camp stink.
He reached into the treasury without looking, pulled out the crumpled scrap of the burned letter—edges black, wax seal half-melted from last night's lantern—and held it up between two fingers.
The paper felt brittle, like it remembered being fire.
"Your count wanted the same coin I already have," Lucien said, voice low, almost conversational.
He flicked the scrap toward the captain's boots. It landed soft, ash flaking off like bad dandruff.
"Double dowry, forced wedding, the whole package. I burned the receipt. You're late to the negotiation."
The soldiers went still.
One scratched the back of his neck, slow, the kind of move that said he'd rather be anywhere else.
The older scarred guy from yesterday shifted his spear again, eyes narrowing at the burned paper like it had personally insulted his mother.
The captain stared down at the scrap, jaw working, no laugh this time.
Just a long exhale through his nose that carried the weight of bad orders and worse pay.
"Count's gonna love hearing this," the captain muttered, but he took a half-step back anyway, boot heel grinding the ash into the dirt.
Confusion sat thick on the group now, spears dipping, faces trading looks that weren't quite fear but definitely weren't confidence.
Elara lowered her sword an inch, breath catching like she'd been holding it since she left the shack.
Relief and anger mixed on her face—cheeks flushed, eyes wet at the corners but not spilling.
She looked at Lucien like she wanted to say something sharp and grateful at the same time.
Nyx's tail flicked once against Lucien's calf, small approval.
The captain waved a hand, half-dismissive, half-tired.
"Take her. We're not dying over a baron's leftover deal."
The soldiers started packing up loose gear, movements jerky, like the whole morning had gone off-script and nobody got the new pages.
Lucien didn't gloat.
Just turned, the bond humming steady between him and Elara now, no more yanking, just a warm line pulling them the same direction.
They walked out together.
Elara fell in step beside him, close enough that her shoulder brushed his arm every few strides.
No cloak disguise this time, no hiding.
The village path felt shorter on the way back, sun higher, dirt warmer under their boots.
Nyx trotted ahead in fox form, ears perked, sniffing the air like she was checking for more trouble that hadn't shown up yet.
Elara's breathing evened out after a minute, but her hand stayed near her sword hilt, thumb rubbing the grip like she was still tasting the almost-fight.
"I'm not a treasure to be kept," she said suddenly, voice low but carrying that stubborn edge from the camp.
The words came out rough, like she'd chewed on them the whole way here.
"Not yours to run after every time I decide to do something stupid."
Lucien glanced sideways.
Her hair stuck to her temple, sweat drying in the breeze, the faint lavender cutting through the camp smell still clinging to her cloak.
He leaned in, lips close to her ear, the bond giving a soft pulse like it approved the closeness.
"Good treasures are the ones that choose to stay," he whispered, breath warm against her skin.
The sarcasm stayed tucked away this time; the words came out straight, no extra polish.
She didn't pull back.
Just leaned a little heavier into his side, shoulder solid against his, the kind of contact that didn't need explaining.
Nyx glanced back once, golden eyes narrowing playful but not jealous, tail swishing like she was filing the moment away for later teasing.
The village roofs came into view, the square still buzzing quiet from the kid's return, old ladies whispering by the fountain where the mana seeds kept doing their invisible work.
Lucien felt the Greed settle deeper, not loud, just satisfied with the math—Elara walking free, the bond locked tighter, the count's men scratching their heads back at camp.
Random thought hit him sideways: back in São Paulo this would've been a spreadsheet argument and a passive-aggressive email. Here it's swords and burned letters and a girl who almost got herself killed to prove a point.
Made his mouth twitch.
They were halfway across the square when the system blinked in the corner of his vision, discreet, no fanfare, just clean blue text hovering like it knew better than to interrupt.
[Primordial Conquest Bond with Elara stabilized. Power sharing bonus activated.]
Lucien didn't stop walking.
The notification faded soft, leaving a faint warmth in his chest that spread toward Elara like shared static.
She felt it too—her step hitched for half a second, eyes widening before she masked it.
But then the dust caught his eye.
Far down the main road, past the last hut, a cloud rising slow and thick.
Hooves. A lot of them.
The banner flapping at the front wasn't the count's neat crest.
Different colors, sharper edges, something that looked older and meaner under the morning glare.
Nyx's ears flattened.
Elara's hand found Lucien's wrist without looking.
The village kept moving around them, oblivious for another heartbeat.
Lucien's crooked smile pulled at the corner of his mouth anyway, the Greed already waking up fresh.