FREE USE in Primitive World

Sol didn’t open his eyes. He figured it was Kira coming in to finish her lecture or toss a boot at his head for running off.

“I told you I’m sorry,” Sol muttered casually into the quiet room, continuing to drag the rough cloth over his calloused knuckles. “The water’s already green anyway, so if you’re here to yell, keep it short.”

He didn’t hear a verbal reply, only the soft, nearly silent rustle of fabric dropping onto the wooden floorboards, followed by the light friction of bare feet stepping across the room.

A pair of small, cool hands suddenly settled directly onto his broad shoulders.

The fingers were long, delicate, and shifted with a precise, fluid touch. But the moment the skin made contact, Sol’s nostrils picked up a scent that definitely didn’t belong to Kira.

It wasn’t the sweet, wild smell of her. Instead, it was the rich, heavy fragrance of crushed lotus, swamp lilies, and a faint, sweet trace of raw spiritual herbs.

Sol opened his silver-crimson eyes, turning his head slightly without any dramatic or startled reaction.

Standing right behind the rim of the tub, her dark, glossy hair falling loosely over her bare shoulders, was Zeyra. Her dark woven tunic was already sitting in a heap near the door, leaving her pale, flawless skin almost exposed, except a near see through undergarments, made from some material like spider silk, to the dim light of the room.

“What are you doing here?” Sol asked calmly, his voice a steady, low rasp as he looked up at her.

“Helping you wash,” Zeyra replied smoothly. Her dark eyes were entirely focused on him, the red rim flaring with an intense, quiet heat that completely replaced the resentment from earlier.

She didn’t wait for his permission. Her cool hands slid down from his shoulders, dragging over the thick, coiled muscles of his chest, her long fingers tracing the edges of the dark hair before dipping directly into the water.

She grabbed the linen cloth from his hand, her movements slow, deliberate, and entirely focused.

Sol didn’t move. He leaned his head back against the rim, watching her through half-closed lids as she leaned over the tub. She began to scrub his chest, her breath warm against his wet skin.

Her cool hands remained on his broad shoulders for a moment longer, as if anchoring herself.

Then she moved with quiet determination, circling around the large wooden tub until she stood at its side.

The dim light filtering through the narrow windows painted soft golden lines across her bare skin. She seemed to have left her tunic by the door, and now only a thin, nearly sheer undergarment remained, clinging to the gentle curves of her body, hinting at every soft curve without fully revealing her.

Her long, dark hair flew over one shoulder in a mesmerizing way.

Sol watched her silently through half-lidded eyes. The freezing water no longer felt cold. Not with the way she was looking at him. Even the air in the room had grown noticeably warmer.

Zeyra dipped the rough linen cloth into the water, wringing it gently before pressing it against his neck. Water trickled down his broad chest, carving clean paths through the dried green blood and yellow ichor.

She moved with slow, deliberate strokes, wiping away the dried green stains and yellow streaks that clung to his skin.

Each pass of the cloth was careful, almost reverent, tracing the strong lines of his collarbone, then down to the powerful muscles of his chest.

“You really scared us tonight,” she murmured, her voice barely louder than the gentle splash of water. “When the first survivors came back… when they said a lone warrior was tearing through the Zerith like a storm… I knew it was you. I couldn’t breathe until I saw you walk through the gates.”

“You were out there alone for so long,” she continues, voice soft but thick with emotion. “While we waited behind the walls… not knowing if you were hurt, or worse.”

Her hands moved lower, cleaning the powerful slabs of his pectorals.

Her fingers followed the cloth, gliding smoothly over his skin. Where the fabric cleaned, her bare touch lingered, exploring the hard ridges of his abdomen, carefully avoiding the pale scar across his stomach. That single mark seemed to fascinate her. She traced its edge with one fingertip, feather-light.

Sol exhaled slowly, his Sun Core humming warmly beneath his skin. “I had to. They were already inside the perimeter. Eating on the run.”

Zeyra’s eyes darkened at the reminder, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned closer, her breath brushing against his ear as she cleaned the side of his neck.

“I know,” she whispered. “That’s why I’m angry. You carry everything alone. Even when you don’t have to.”

“Even last time, you almost died,” she whispered, her voice cracking slightly, the cool facade she usually maintained completely melting away. “When the healers said the Rockhorn spike had gone through… I felt my own core turn cold. I sat in that grove for three days, Sol. Waiting.”

Sol looked at the top of her head, feeling the intense, suffocating weight of her focus. Zeyra wasn’t like Kira. She didn’t vent her fear through shouting or practical duty.

Her attachment was quiet, deep, and bordered on something entirely obsessive. She didn’t just want to be close to him; she wanted to belong to him completely, to wire her very existence into his shadow so the jungle couldn’t tear them apart.

“But I didn’t die,” Sol said quietly, his hand coming out of the water to cup the side of her jaw. His thumb dragged over her smooth cheek, tilting her face up until her dark eyes met his silver-crimson stare. “My body is special. It will take more than a bug to put me under the dirt.”

Zeyra didn’t smile. She just leaned into his palm, her eyes burning with a wild, unhinged intensity that made her horizontal pupils seem to dilate into deep black pools.