The broth simmers gently now, filling the air with warmth and comfort that feels foreign yet welcome. I stir it once more before ladling some into bowls for them.
The minotaurs sit nearby, their massive forms casting long shadows against the cave walls as they talk in low voices. Thalos watches me with those penetrating eyes, always observing, always calculating.
Irix sprawls lazily by the fire, his muscular frame relaxed but ready to spring into action at any moment. Kael, quieter than the others, sharpens his knife in the corner, the rhythmic scrape of metal on stone filling the space.
I walk over to Thalos first, handing him a bowl. His fingers brush mine as he takes it, a fleeting contact that sends a shiver down my spine. He nods in acknowledgment but says nothing. I move on to Irix, who grins up at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"What's this?" he asks, sniffing the bowl.
"Something to warm you up," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.
Irix chuckles. "You might be more useful than we thought."
Kael accepts his bowl with a quiet "Thank you," his soft blue eyes meeting mine for a brief moment before he returns to his task.
I return to the pot, filling a bowl for myself, and sit down by the fire. The heat from the flames warms my skin, a stark contrast to the coldness that seems to seep into my bones whenever I think about Eryndor.
"You've done well," Thalos says suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice is low and authoritative.
I glance up at him, surprised. "Thanks."
He nods again, more to himself than to me. "Keep it up."
The simple praise sends a wave of relief through me. It's not much, but it's something—a small step toward earning their trust.
As I sip the broth, I can't help but feel a strange sense of belonging here. It's not home; it will never. But it's safer than anything I've known in years.
Thalos's eyes are still on me, calculating as always. But there's something else there too—something softer, almostapproving. It's fleeting and disappears as quickly as it came, but it's enough to keep me going.
I'm not just a prisoner here; I'm becoming part of their world. I've cleaned their lair, gathered plants to make it more livable, and now I'm cooking for them—showing them that I'm more than just a desperate woman running from her past.
Irix stretches out his hand, bowl empty, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “More,” he says, voice a teasing rumble. “Starting to feel like home.”
I force a smile, though my heart feels like lead. This dark, dangerous place isn’t home yet. There’s an odd sense of belonging creeping into my bones. I ladle another portion into his bowl, my hands steady despite the whirlwind of thoughts.
“Thank you,” I say, keeping my tone light.
Irix’s grin widens; that predatory edge is always present. “You’re learning,” he says, almost approving. He takes a deep breath, savoring the aroma before diving back in.
A small smile forms on my lips as I slowly gain their trust. But the ache remains. The loss of freedom weighs heavily on me.
Irix catches my eye again and raises his bowl in a mock toast. “Here’s to our new cook,” he says with a laugh.
Thalos grunts in response, barely acknowledging the exchange.
Kael looks up from his task and offers me a small nod of encouragement. It’s a silent message: You’re doing well.
For all their rough edges and danger, these minotaurs have given me a chance—a chance to prove myself beyond my past.
I return to my spot by the fire, taking comfort in its warmth. Home may be an impossible dream here in Protheka’s wilds, but for now... this will have to do.
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9
IRIX
The wind cuts through my fur like a blade, cold and biting. I crouch low on a slope, eyes fixed on the movement below. Dark elves.