Gnomish Delights?

Steven savored the last spoonful of his modest soup, the bread’s crust crumbling in his hands as Franz led him from the dining hall. They wound through the guild’s shadowed corridors until they reached the barracks—a cavernous room lined with bunk beds, their wooden frames groaning under the weight of snoring adventurers. As Franz pointed him to an empty lower bunk, Steven’s gaze snagged on a familiar figure across the room: Melissa Veylthorne, the silver-haired gnome, tucking herself into a top bunk. Their eyes locked, a spark flaring in the dim light. He flashed a quick wave, and she returned it with a shy smile, her cheeks tinting pink before they both surrendered to sleep’s embrace.

The week unfurled in a relentless rhythm of training. Mornings began with a free breakfast—gruel and stale bread—followed by hours in the sand pit with Franz, whose fists were unrelenting hammers forging Steven’s skills. Dinners mirrored breakfast, basic but sustaining. Melissa didn’t return, leaving him to Franz’s brutal tutelage. The levels crept upward, slower now, as the gnome had warned. By week’s end, his ID glowed with new strength: Holy Magic Lvl 10, Resilience Lvl 20, Unarmed Combat Lvl 16. Not bad for gifts he hadn’t even chosen—his true powers still coiled in secret, waiting to strike.

On the final day, as the sun dipped low, Melissa reappeared in the training hall. Her silver hair shimmered under the glowing orbs, her cheeks already flushed as she approached. “I… I thought I could teach you another spell, if you’re willing,” she stammered, clutching her tome. Steven grinned, eager. Franz clapped him on the back, his grip a vice. “Great work, kid. Good luck out there,” he rumbled in his gruff, warrior’s farewell, then strode off, leaving them alone.

Steven sank onto the bench beside Melissa, the air shifting as he caught her scent—salty and sweet, like ocean honey, a heady mix that stirred his senses. She opened her tome, guiding him through Purify, a spell to cleanse poison and corruption. Her voice wove through the lesson, soft and precise, until he mastered it, a faint shimmer rippling over his skin. “What next?” she asked, peering up at him through her glasses, unsure.

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a smooth, velvet murmur. “How about you?” Her breath hitched, eyes widening as she gulped. “Most humans… they don’t fancy gnomes,” she whispered, shy and retreating. Steven’s lips curved, a cunning edge to his words. “I’m not most humans. I hail from a humble village—open to all races, no prejudice in our blood.” It was a lie spun with masterful ease, and her blush deepened, a scarlet bloom against her pale skin.

“C-can you read?” she asked, thrusting the tome into his hands, her fingers brushing his. He took it silently, flipping it open. To his shock, the script was English—his native tongue, impossibly mirrored in Vyrthralis. “Yes,” he said, steadying his voice. “I can read and write.” Her eyes flared wide. “You can? Most adventurers can’t!” Shit, he thought, cursing inwardly—literacy might unravel his village ruse. But she pressed on, saving him. “I suppose your little hamlet, free of bigots, offered some light tutoring, yes?” He nodded swiftly, seizing the lifeline.

He skimmed the tome, page by page, each spell a bold title: Bless, Smite, Ward. Then he paused, finger jabbing at one: Radiant Armament, a rite to infuse a weapon with holy wrath. “This—can it work on my fists?” Melissa blinked, then giggled, a giddy edge to her voice. “I… I don’t know! No one’s tried, I think. Oh, you must!” She leapt up, urging him on.

He followed her guidance—visualizing the light, channeling it into his hands. The air hummed, and his fists erupted in golden flame, radiant and fierce. Melissa squealed, clapping her hands. “It worked! Oh, this is unprecedented—I’ll submit it to the Magical Society!” She snatched a magical quill, its tip glowing, and scribbled furiously in the tome’s margins, her nerdish delight spilling over. “Holy magic in a combatant like you—it’s rare! We’ve always seen it in back-line casters, healing parties. Never a… a combat medic!”

Steven arched a brow, smirking. “Combat medic, huh?” Her blush flared anew, and she stammered, “S-sorry, I didn’t mean—” Before she could spiral, he reached out, his fingers grazing her chin, tilting her face up. His touch was firm yet gentle, his voice a low, molten purr. “It’s fine, Melissa. I don’t mind the title. Makes me wonder what else we could… explore together.” His eyes locked with hers, smoldering with intent, a subtle promise simmering beneath his words.

Her heart thudded—he could almost hear it—her breath shallow as she stared into him, caught in the heat of his gaze. The salty-sweet perfume of her skin thickened the air, intoxicating, and her lips parted slightly, trembling. For a moment, she was lost in him, her bookworm shell cracking under the weight of his attention—a human’s desire for a gnome, a rarity she’d never known. Her glasses fogged faintly, her blush a wildfire now, painting her from cheeks to ears.

Then, with a tiny gasp, she broke free, stumbling back. “I-I need to… to report this,” she squeaked, clutching the tome to her chest like a shield. She spun and bolted, her silver hair a fleeting banner as she scurried up the stairs, fleeing the intensity she’d never faced—unwanted by most, unseen as more than a scholar, until now. Steven watched her go, a slow, predatory grin curling his lips. The seed was planted.