Saving The Monster Race Starts With Breeding The Elf Village

”What is it?” Luca asked curiously. ”What could possibly make someone like you who has stones for shoulders relax?”

Leona was about to answer—before a sad smile curved her lips—beautiful and painful all at once.

”Actually forget about it.” She wistfuly said like it was a impossible task. ”I can’t do that anymore. It’s not possible.”

”Why not?” Luca pressed. ”Tell me what it is. No matter what, I’ll help you.”

Leona shook her head slowly, that same wry smile in place.

”It’s not that it’s tedious or difficult, Luca. It’s simply...not possible anymore.”

She met his eyes, and there was such profound sadness in her gaze that it made his chest ache.

”After all, the only person who ever made me feel that way was my mother.”

Luca blinked, caught off guard.

Leona continued, her voice taking on a distant, dreamy quality.

”In the past, when I was young, I used to lie in her embrace. She would run her fingers through my hair—just like this.”

She mimed the gesture, her own hand moving through the air as if tracing a ghost.

”And I don’t know why, but it was the most satisfying feeling in the world.”

She let out a radiant smile like she was talking about a happy past that she remembered fondly.

”Even when I had nightmares. Even when everything was falling apart around us. When she brushed my hair, I felt so safe, so relaxed, that I could have slept through the end of the world.”

She laughed softly, but there was no humor in it.

She then looked down at her hands, still wearing that painful smile.

”But sadly, I can’t really do that anymore, can I?”

The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken grief.

Luca sat frozen, clearly grappling with what to say.

He had unintentionally opened a wound, stirred up memories that brought more pain than comfort.

Leona could see the conflict on his face—the struggle to find the right words, the right response.

She opened her mouth to tell him to forget it, to move on, to pretend she hadn’t said anything.

But before she could speak, Luca did something unexpected.

”Get back into position.”

Leona blinked. ”What?”

”Get back into position.” He repeated. ”Put your eye on the scope.”

She stared at him, confused.

”Why? Even if I shoot right now, I won’t be able to—”

”Just do it, Leona.”

Something in his voice made her obey.

Despite her confusion, despite her certainty that it was pointless, she turned back to the rifle.

Settled into position.

Loaded another round.

Placed her eye against the scope.

And now that Luca had pointed it out, she could feel that her body really was rigid. Tense. Locked tight.

She knew, even before aiming, that this shot would go wide like all the others.

She was about to pull back and tell him as much when—

She felt something.

A warm, gentle sensation.

Soft fingers brushing through her hair.

Slow.

Careful.

Familiar.

Her breath hitched.

It was so close to that memory that goosebumps rose along her arms.

For a split second, she almost looked up, half-expecting to see her mother—

But it wasn’t her.

It was Luca.

Kneeling beside her, his hand moving through her hair with that same gentle rhythm, that same loving care.

And on his face was a smile so warm, so understanding, that it made her chest ache in an entirely different way.

”How about this?” He asked softly. ”Is this how your mother did it? Was it this gentle, or did she use more pressure?”

Leona couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.

”I can’t bring her back.” Luca continued, his voice a gentle murmur. ”I wish I could. But I can try to simulate the feeling. Help you remember what it was like.” He tilted his head. ”Am I doing it right?”

Leona nodded slowly, shyly, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

”It’s...It’s right. This is how she did it.”

Luca’s smile widened as he a cast her a encouraging gaze and said,

”Good. Then shoot, Leona. Shoot as if your mother is right here beside you.”

”Show her that her daughter isn’t just the best archer in the village—she’s a damn good sniper too.”

Leona’s heart raced.

She turned back to the scope, but this time, something was different.

The tension in her body had loosened.

The rigid walls she’d built over decades had softened, just slightly, just enough.

Luca’s hand continued its gentle motion, and with every pass, she felt more of that old feeling—that safety, that warmth, that complete and total relaxation.

She aimed.

Breathed.

And fired.

BOOM!

The shot echoed across the clearing.

Through the scope, Leona watched the impact—and she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

Bullseye.

Dead center.

A smile exploded across her face—genuine, unguarded, radiant.

For a moment, she looked like a different person entirely. Younger. Lighter. Free.

Luca chuckled softly behind her.

”Nice shot, Leona. Nice shot.”

He withdrew his hand with a playful sigh.

”I’ve been giving so many head pats to children lately that I guess I’ve become a professional at it.”

He shrugged lightly. ”Good to know the skill has practical application.”

Then he added casually,

”Now that you know what that relaxed feeling is like, I probably don’t need to pat your head anymore. You might be embarrassed by it.”

He began pulling his hand away.

But—

Before he could fully withdraw—

Leona reached up and placed her hand gently over his, pressing it back against her head.

She didn’t look at him.

Her eyes stayed forward.

But her voice, when she spoke, was softer than he had ever heard it.

”...It’s fine.”

Her fingers tightened slightly over his hand.

”You can...keep doing it.”

Luca blinked, caught completely off guard by her action.

For a moment, he just stared at her hand, trying to process what had just happened.

Leona herself was frozen, her face burning as she realized what she’d done.

’What am I doing?!’ Her mind screamed. ’I just—I grabbed his hand and put it back—like I was asking for more—like I want him to touch me—’

She knew that in that moment she should pull away.

Make an excuse.

Pretend it was an accident.

But when she tried to imagine pulling his hand away, something in her chest clenched painfully.

She didn’t want to.

Because his touch felt exactly like her mother’s.

Not the same, of course—her mother’s hands had been slender, soft, delicate. Luca’s were broader, rougher, calloused.

But the sensation they produced was identical.

That same warmth.

That same safety.

That same feeling of being completely, utterly protected.

Her mother was gone. And Leona had thought she would never feel that again—that gentle, loving reassurance that made everything else fade away.

But here it was. In the touch of this strange, powerful, infuriatingly patient man from another world.

She didn’t want to forget it. Didn’t want to let it go.

Not yet. Maybe not ever.

But she couldn’t just say that. Couldn’t admit how much she craved this simple comfort.

So instead, she turned to him with the best excuse she could muster.

”I’m...I’m not used to it yet.”

Her voice came out steadier than she felt.

”The feeling, I mean. I need to...to feel it a little longer. To really understand it. Otherwise, I’ll mess up the next shot.”

She nodded firmly, as if convincing herself.

”Just for a few more shots. Three or four. Maybe until I finish all the bullets I have. You need to keep...petting me. Until then.”

Luca stared at her.

It was such an obvious excuse. So transparent that a child could see through it.

Her trembling gaze, the desperation barely hidden beneath her words—everything about this screamed that she was making up reasons to keep his hand there.

But he didn’t call her out.

He didn’t smirk. Didn’t tease. Didn’t make her feel foolish.

Instead, he simply leaned closer, his voice warm and gentle.

”Fine, fine.”

His hand resumed its motion, fingers threading through her hair with that same tender rhythm.

”Shoot as much as you want. I’ll pet your head all through the way.”

Leona’s heart fluttered.

She turned back to the scope, a small, satisfied smile tugging at her lips—one she quickly hid. Settling into position, she took aim.

BOOM!

Bullseye.

BOOM!

Another bullseye.

BOOM!

And another.

Shot after shot, each one perfect, each one landing dead center.

The rhythm became hypnotic—the crack of the rifle, the gentle stroke of his fingers, the warmth spreading through her chest.

And Luca noticed something.

She was taking her time.

Unlike with her bow, where she released almost instantly, Leona was holding each shot.

Breathing. Waiting. Letting the seconds stretch.

It wasn’t necessary for accuracy.

She had already proven she could hit the bullseye consistently.

But still, she lingered between each trigger pull, her body relaxed, her expression peaceful.

Because every extra second meant his fingers stayed in her hair longer.

Luca smiled to himself, continuing his gentle motion, saying nothing.

Some things didn’t need to be said.

The afternoon sun continued its slow descent, casting golden light across the clearing.

Gunshots echoed from every direction.

Laughter and chatter filled the air.

And in their own small corner of the range, a former Matriarch and a Hero from another world shared a moment of quiet connection—one that would bloom into something more beautiful then Leona could ever imagine.