The boat ride along the winding, northern rivers had been agonizingly quiet. Marlon stood tall and rigid at the helm, his calloused hands locked around the wooden wheel, good eye fixed firmly on the rushing waters ahead. Your guild leader was never one for idle pleasantries and after a quick briefing on what to expect at the outpost, a heavy silence had settled over the riverboat like a thick fog.

Being left to your own devices meant looking for ways to occupy your idle hands to keep the nervous energy at bay. You slid your whetstone down the edge of your blade. The abrasive scritch-scritch-scritch was the only sound competing with the chugging thrum of the boat's engine and the slap of icy water against the hull. One axe, two swords, and four daggers later, fidgety hands calmed as your eyes drifted to the sweeping cliffside views.

The scenery was breathtaking. The giant wall of rock to your left framed a river running so impossibly clear that you could see individual emerald-scaled fish darting between the submerged boulder beds. The flora looked exotic and unfamiliar with shiny, almost gelatinous leaves clinging to the rock faces and dancing in the draft. Under any other circumstance, you would have begged Marlon to kill the engine so you could step out and forage but the low, resonant rumble echoing from the dark crags high above kept your hand firmly glued to your sword. A shadow moved in the far distance, creatures hiding behind large tree trunks making noises just loud enough to keep you on high alert. Beautiful but dangerous, you thought, tightening your grip on the hilt until your knuckles turned white.

The phrase immediately brought a very specific face to mind.

It had been a few weeks since you last ran into your new friend at the foot of Mount Kohldur, where the volcanic heat felt like the complete opposite of these northern waters.

He had been on patrol duty that day, observing and analyzing the erratic migration patterns of the volcano spirits that seemed to be growing more aggressive than usual—an exciting, heroic deed, you had thought at the time, heat creeping up your ears that had nothing to do with the volcano’s mouth. Your own reason for being there was far less heroic. Rather, it was a self-imposed, grueling heist.

Today was the day you had promised yourself you’ll gather enough diamonds to bribe the cavern dwarf into parting with an ancient, leather-bound tome on some obscure alchemy you’d been eyeing for months. Lance had seemed genuinely delighted to discover a dwarf was still residing in the depths. Inquisitive amethyst eyes further lighting up as he volunteered to accompany you up the treacherous volcano.

Hesitantly, you agreed. Happy to spend more time with him yet flustered he’s there all the same. But after spending no more than a quarter of an hour, you have to admit, spelunking with the First Slash’s second-in-command had certainly made the trek faster. With another set of capable hands, you were able to focus on mining the sparkling jewel veins embedded in the basalt walls. You only had to pause to defend yourself against the aggressive sprites once or twice before the sudden whoosh of a heavy cloak and the sweeping arc of a silver blade silenced the threat. It was a fluid, almost hypnotic rhythm that carried you effortlessly into the late morning. By the third level, your pack was heavy with the satisfying weight of raw gems. Panting slightly, you wipe a sheen of sweat from your brow as you turn with a triumphant grin to inform your partner of the good news only to freeze in place.

Lance was currently engaged with a swarming horde of magma sprites. You wouldn’t have called yourself a poet, but Yoba, his movements were pure poetry. He moved with such confident efficiency, each step precise and deliberate. He barely wasted a breath as he ducked beneath a burst of flame, spun on his heel, and sliced a pair of flying sprites cleanly in half.

For one moment, you forgot yourself, your surroundings, and the pickaxe hung limply in your hand. Your gaze locked to his form as you watched the harsh, orange light catch the sculpted line of his jawline, illuminating the final swing of his greatsword. Fleetingly, you scolded yourself, he certainly didn't need to—no, shouldn’t know you were ogling him while he was mid-battle. Unfortunately, that split-second lapse in concentration, that one dangerous moment was all it took for a stray sparker, crackling with volatile, yellow-tinted magic, zipped out from a molten fissure to your right.

How did that get here? you wondered as it grazed your cheek with a sharp, searing heat. You let out a strained hiss of pain, trying your best not to make the hit obvious. Your hands scrambled to unsheathe your sword before it attacked again when a flash of steel cleaved the air right beside your head. Lance’s blade sliced cleanly through the core of the spirit as it fell with a shrill, resonant shriek, leaving nothing but dissolving embers to drift harmlessly across the toes of your boots.

With all immediate threats gone, you tried to reach for your emergency kit that hung on the side of your bag before the burn spread but just as your fingertips grazed your backpack’s pockets, a heavy, steady hand clamped onto your shoulder.

“Lance! Tha-” You whipped around to properly thank your companion but the gratitude died in your throat as the warmth of his palm penetrated right through the thick material of your jacket. He guided you firmly backward into a small stone alcove, shielded from the main path by a cluster of jagged boulders. Lance ushered you back until solid stone met your spine and stepped directly into your personal space, so close you could feel the heat radiating off his body. His gloved fingers gently, yet unyieldingly, cupped your jawline. He tilted your face upward, his brows furrowing in concentration as he inspected the blistered skin on your cheek.

He was entirely too close. Oh Yoba, you could even smell him. A sharp, crisp scent of ozone and smoked cedar despite the lingering sulphur in the air. The sheer proximity scrambled your brain so thoroughly that you barely registered the damp, cool cloth he pressed against the heat of your skin. When you gave an involuntary, sharp wince at the contact, his posture eased. His other hand moved instinctively to soothe you. Long, calloused fingers sliding into your hair, gently brushing the sweat-dampened strands away from your forehead with a tenderness that made your chest ache. You couldn't help but squeeze your eyes shut, forcing yourself to focus entirely on the ragged cadence of your own breathing.

"Here," he murmured. His voice dropped an octave, a low, smooth vibration that felt like a strike right against your ribs. He pressed a small, crystalline vial filled with a shimmering, iridescent violet liquid into your palm. "Drink the rest of this. You'll be alright."

Desperate for any excuse to break his intense, unblinking gaze, you snatched the vial and downed the bitter, metallic liquid in one frantic gulp. The lingering sting on your face vanished instantly, replaced by a soothing, icy wave that flooded your veins. As you pulled the glass away, a stray, purple droplet threatened to run down your chin—but Lance was faster. His thumb swept across your lower lip, catching the moisture. To your absolute horror, he brought the digit to his own lips, tasting the residual potion without breaking eye contact for even a fraction of a second.

"It would be a shame to waste an elixir of this quality," he chuckled. A knowing, wicked glint flashed in his pale eyes as he took in your stunned, slack jawed expression. He turned on his heel with a fluid snap of his cloak, casually adjusting his pauldrons like the last five minutes never happened. "We should keep moving if we want to reach the dwarf before sunset." His voice reverberated in the now quiet dungeon.

You stood frozen amongst the rocks, still gawking at his retreating back, your face burning for an entirely different reason now. Hurrying after him, you made a silent, desperate vow to look at literally anything else—a rock, a pool of lava, a slime—for the remainder of the day. You managed to survive the next couple floors through sheer, stubborn avoidance, eventually guiding him down a crumbling stairwell to the hidden, quiet grotto where the dwarf kept shop.

Lance was positively elated, whipping out a worn journal to frantically take notes as he conversed with the creature. Of course he speaks Dwarfish, you muttered with a petulant roll of your eyes. Even with the tome finally tucked between your hands, victory tasted bittersweet. That moment in the alcove completely eclipsed everything else.

After their little interview that you halfheartedly paid attention to, the two of you had to continue on to the top of the volcano. Stuffing your tome into the safety of your bag, you bid your farewells to the dwarf as you resumed the ascent. Voices dying down into a heavy blanket of tense silence. Guilt seemed to settle over Lance's shoulders as you continued to pointedly ignore him. He had clearly noticed your aggressive avoidance. At one point on the fourth level, he had even caught you choosing to leap over a dangerous, bubbling gap guarded by a spitting lava lurker rather than walk beside him on a perfectly safe, albeit narrow path.

Finally, as you navigated a particularly tight ledge over a roaring river of magma, enchanted watering can balanced precariously between your sword hilt and your sweaty palms, he cleared his throat. The sound echoed sharply off the cavern walls making you flinch, fingers scrambling for purchase on your weapon as your eyes wildly scanned the terrain for a quick escape route. But his voice anchored you right to the spot.

"I apologize if my actions earlier made you uncomfortable," Lance said. The usual commanding, almost theatrical cadence of his voice was gone, replaced by a softer, incredibly gentle register that made your heart twinge. "It was not my intention to cause you distress, or to make you dread my company." He stood a respectful distance away as he spoke, but it was no use. You could still feel his piercing stare sweep over you and it was enough to send your pulse racing.

Cautiously, you turned to face him as embarrassment crawled up your skin, hotter than the magma bubbling mere feet below. How were you supposed to explain that you didn't hate it? That, in fact, you had been entirely too into it, and that your brain was currently short-circuiting from the lingering memory of his thumb against your lips?

You cleared your throat, staring hard at the cracked leather of your boots. "It's... it's not that you distressed me. Truly. I was just startled. You caught me completely off guard," you rambled, your hand gripping the pommel of your sword so tightly your knuckles hurt. "...I didn’t dislike it, per se. Too much of the opposite, actually."

You blurted out the last sentence in a quiet, frantic rush, desperate to get it off your chest, and even more eager to jump into the nearest pool of molten rock.

Lance paused, his heavy boots halting on the gravel. A brief look of genuine surprise crossed his features before melting into a soft, amused smile. "Off guard? I see." He stepped slightly closer, the hem of his cloak just brushing your arm as he passed. "I shall endeavor to be more mindful of your boundaries, then. Though I admit..." He leaned in just an inch, his voice dropping to a velvet purr, "...tempering my instincts around you is proving to be quite the challenge."

As he moved away, you finally let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Heartbeat finally slowed down as you admitted everything in your chest—and it being received better than expected.

With the suffocating tension dissolved, a comfortable, more cooperative rhythm had taken its place. You discovered that when you actually calmed down, the two of you worked exceptionally better together. By the time you reached the final stretch, however, the cavern exploded into pure chaos. The floor was heavily infested with a swarming, deafening cloud of sprites and sparkers that descended from the soot-stained ceiling, cutting off the main path and filling the air with screeching heat.

"Go for the gate! I'll find the plate!" you shouted over the roar of the monsters, temporarily separated from him by a wall of living flame.

Through the shifting haze of bright light and dark smoke, you caught a glimpse of his sword holding a defensive guard near the heavy iron bars of the exit. You knew the pressure plate to open it was at the far end of the chamber, usually heavily guarded. Without looking back, you trusted Lance to hold his ground as you sprinted through the blinding heat. Your blade whirled, deflecting a barrage of magical fireballs and whirring spirits as your boots skidded across the hot ash. With a final, desperate leap, ignoring the sharp rocks and falling blades scraping your knees, you threw your entire weight onto the stone plate.

A heavy, mechanical groan echoed through the cavern as the iron bars slid upward.

Lance moved instantly, driving his sword into the remaining monsters to clear a path. You scrambled up from the plate and sprinted toward him, diving through the narrowing threshold just as the heavy gate slammed shut behind you, sealing the screeching monsters on the other side.

Safe in the quiet, burbling expanse of the forge, you both collapsed against the warm, dark stone floor. Breathless, covered in thick layers of soot, and battered from the frantic dash, you looked at each other and burst out laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all.

You had tackled him in your desperate dive through the gate, and now you were sprawled directly over his chest, your limbs completely intertwined. Lance’s breath caught, his chest rising and falling beneath you, and for the first time that day, his heart was the one that skipped a beat as he continued to stare at your face covered in ash and mirth.

Slowly, his mouth curved into a gentle smile. He lifted his hand, touch surprisingly feather-light as his bare fingers tucked a loose, soot-stained strand of hair behind your ear. Your laugh got caught in your throat, your lungs burning, trapped in the intense, quiet pull of his eyes. Neither of you moved. The quiet hum of the forge pulsed around you, the space between your lips shrinking by fractions of an inch—

A low, resonant grunt shattered the spell of the memory.

"We're here," Marlon announced. The phantom, sulfurous heat of the volcano vanished instantly, shattered by the violent, biting slap of high-altitude wind. You blinked hard, shaking the lingering warmth of Lance's smile from your head as you shivered violently. The boat had docked against an ancient pier. Above you, jutting into a grey, churning sky, were the vast, jagged peaks of the Highlands. Each breath cut through your lungs like a shard of glass, still, you breathed in the landscape. Autumn barely started and yet you could almost feel the formation of snowflakes heavy in the air. Magic feels stronger here, somehow, if you tilt your head just right you swear you could see it thrumming in the air.

“Lance’s outpost is just up these stairs,” your leader said as he finished tossing the heavy mooring line onto the dock. You wondered if it’ll hold as you passed the withered wood posts, eyes trained on the wooden planks, careful not to slip on the moss and the algae.

Up ahead my ass, you huffed. The walk, no—climb—up to reach his outpost feels longer than the ride to get here. You don’t even feel the cold anymore, exhaustion replacing the biting cold in your bones. You sneak a glance at your companion to find him breathing heavier than usual but otherwise fine. You curse these adventurers and their inhuman stamina as the steep stairs tested every muscle in your legs, turning the journey from the pier into a grueling exercise in attrition. You trudged upward, shoes scraping against the uneven stone steps that wound their way into the rugged hillside.

At the summit stood Lance’s outpost. Built from dark, weathered stone that stood out from the surrounding canopy of dying autumn leaves, a brilliant sea of deep greens, rust oranges, and amber as far as your eyes can see. The towering structure looked like something straight out of a storybook with its overgrown vines and cracked edges. Glowing braziers lined the perimeter, casting an eerie, deep sea-green firelight that danced across the walls and fought back the encroaching shadows of the old, imposing trees.

True to form, Lance was already on duty. He stood near the edge of the overlook, his back turned as he looked down into the dense, foggy forest canopy of the Highlands below, tracking something unseen in the wilderness. The heavy fur-lined collar of his cloak rippled in the bitter mountain draft, framing the broad, solid lines of his shoulders. Hearing the crunch of gravel and your ragged, puffing breath, he turned.

“Hello, friends. Welcome to my outpost. You must be exhausted after the long journey,” Lance greeted, his voice carrying easily over the wind as he stepped out from the wooden deck.

“It was uneventful, but that's a good thing in my book.” Marlon exhaled, a heavy cloud of white vapour dissipating into the freezing air.

“Please, come inside. I've prepared refreshments. There is much to discuss.”

As he ushered the pair of you inside, he subtly slowed his pace until he was walking right beside you. The moment his eyes locked onto yours, the polite, guarded mask melted away and replaced by a slow, breathtaking smile broke across his face, his look softening with such fondness that warmed you from to the freezing altitude. "You made it," Lance murmured softly, his tone shifting to something more private as the heavy wooden door began to swing shut behind Marlon, who had already vanished toward the warmth of the indoors, entirely forgotten in the background.

Lance took another step, closing the remaining distance between you in a heartbeat. "Marlon didn't work you too hard on the climb up, did he?"

You scoffed lightly, pulling your cloak tighter around your shivering frame. "He told me it was 'just up ahead.' I’m beginning to think adventurers have a very warped definition of distance."

Lance’s smile widened, amusement dancing in iridium eyes as he reached out, his fingers lightly brushing a dusting of imaginary snow from your shoulder. "Well, consider it a test of your dedication. Though..." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, the lingering heat of his touch sending a sudden, traitorous flush straight to your cheeks despite the mountain chill. "...I'm glad to see you passed."

Tired of always being the one to lose composure, you decided it was high time to turn the tables. With deliberate, agonizing slowness, you stepped imperceptibly closer. You watched the playful glint drain from his face, replaced by a sudden, sharp intake of breath as your boots brushed against his. Your breaths mingled in the freezing air as you held his gaze, refusing to look away first.

Under the unbroken weight of your stare, his confidence began to fray at the edges. A dark, spreading flush crept up his neck, dusting the sharp planes of his cheeks, his pupils dilated, and for a fleeting, glorious second, you watched as his composure completely shattered. A lopsided, victorious smirk tugged at the corner of your lips. You tilted your chin up, letting your voice drop to a soft, teasing murmur.

Magnus Rasmodius:

Given how often mankind exploit magical creatures and their abilities or weaknesses for their own gain without a shred of remorse (and this applies to fairies, unicorns, mermaids, and the like as well), Magnus is not at all surprised by this beautiful sea-faring people’s distrust of humanity in general. This also explains to him Farmer's powerful water-element spells and their frequent “departures” from the valley. It is an honor for the old wizard that one of the selkie trusts him enough to tell him about their true origin. It is an even greater honor and responsibility for him when Farmer entrusts him with the seal skin for safekeeping, in case they marry. Magnus guards the skin like the apple of his eye, but always makes it clear that Farmer can take the seal skin at any moment, so that the wizard’s love does not feel as though they are against their will and can enter the sea whenever they wish.

Lance:

All those stories Lance had heard from others about the incredible seal-people and their connections with humans… The pink-haired adventurer always felt a pang of sadness at the realization that it was often his own kind who, driven by greed and a thirst for power, had harmed — and sometimes even destroyed — these magical creatures. That’s why he didn’t feel betrayed or angry at Farmer at all when they finally told him their secret after so many years of friendship. In fact, Lance even wants to apologize to them, on behalf of his people, for all the harm and wrongs of the past. When he and Farmer fell in love and, as a sign of trust, they gave him their seal skin, Lance took an oath and cast a spell (which is sacred to the mages of Castle Village) to safeguard the item and thanked his beloved for their trust. And a noble man kept his word, protecting both the skin and his family with all his might from evil eyes.

Camilla:

Always curious, always eager to find out what interesting things are happening, always eager to encounter people and creatures that intrigue her, all while playfully having fun. But she isn’t cruel, nor is she a monster who would take pleasure in the bitter cries of the selkie begging the witch to give them the seal skin. So she did the right thing and quietly apologized, vanishing faster than the seal-man could swim away. Her heart twinged slightly when Farmer revealed their secret to her and told her about their past, sharing how one man had nearly forced them to attend a wedding against their will. People can be real monsters sometimes, and how she behaved when she first met a selkie… She may always joke in her favorite way, but Farmer knows they can trust their wife with their seal skin. And Camilla keeps her vow; no one will ever learn the secret of her love, but even if they did somehow, they wouldn’t even think of stealing from the most powerful witch in Castle Village.

Isaac:

“The kind, peaceful people of the seal-men…” Yeah, right. Isaac had heard all those stories too, but he wasn’t a fool. “Kind” creatures don’t capsize boats carrying dozens of people just to get revenge on a single offender. He found the legends claiming these creatures were former humans, banished to the sea for their sins, more believable. But maybe… he was wrong after all. In his reasoning, in his negative opinion of the selkie. And his unkind attitude was a direct proof of why so much time had passed before Farmer entrusted him with their secret. When they, as a sign of love and complete trust, handed Isaac their seal skin, the adventurer didn’t want to take it at first. Out of shame, guilt for his past words toward his now-spouse. But in the end, he accepts their gift, clutching the skin tightly and guarding this second chance and their trust with fire and sword.

Alesia:

Alesia had once encountered the selkie when she was younger, on the sandy shore of the Gem Sea in Stardew Valley, where she found a seal skin lying on the sand. A naked man of incredible beauty, standing behind the palm tree, begged her to give him the skin, and she handed it over immediately, apologizing to the stranger. For which he thanked her and quickly swam out to sea. So Alesia saw with her own eyes the very selkie that Marlon had told her about. Incredible, kind, and gentle creatures. And Farmer was one of them! Sniper is grateful for their trust. When offered to take the seal skin into her care, Alesia asked if they truly intended to entrust their treasure to her. To which the smiling Farmer replied that “their people have long trusted her,” recounting how one of their kind had told them a story about how at least one young woman from the small valley could be trusted.

Jadu: