Snacks

Steven woke to a throbbing pulse in his skull, the first hangover in his new body—a cruel gift from two Salted Honey Ales and a glass of Mistvine White Wine. “Fuck me,” he muttered, wincing as the room spun, his D-rank resilience no match for last night’s drunk plunge. Melissa slept beside him, her silver hair fanned across his chest, a quiet anchor. Calmer thoughts broke through—he cast Purify, golden light rippling from his hands, washing over him. The headache vanished, the fog lifting, his body fresh. “Heh, it worked,” he murmured, grinning at the trick.

Melissa stirred, squeezing him tight, her voice a sleepy purr. “Mine.” He smirked, stroking her hair—three feet of silver from his Fleshsculpting—but her claim sparked a thought. One lover was wild, but a harem? His old Earth fantasies flickered, and this world could bend to his will. He tapped Soulbinding Lvl 3 and Mind-Dominion Lvl 1, whispering low, “Ye want me to have a harem—for me, lovers; for ye, friends.” Her eyes flashed gold, the command slipping into her soulbound mind, unseen. She blinked up at him, smiling. “Good mornin’,” she chirped, oblivious to the shift he’d sown. A DING chimed—Mind-Dominion Lvl 2—his control sharpening.

She stretched, dressing in her comfy ash-gray set, her curves snug against the wool. “Don’t wanna work today—let’s spend it together,” she said, tugging his arm. Steven agreed, pulling on his Stormgull Flyer, and they stepped out for a day-date, her hand in his as she dragged him through the Mistveil.

Day-Date in the Mistveil

Melissa led with a bounce, her silver hair swaying as she pulled him into the Wharf District. First stop: a stall by the docks, Tidebite Shack, frying Saltfin Cakes—crisp patties of minced fish, mistvine sap, and glowcap dust, sizzling in kraken oil. She fed him one, giggling as the tangy crunch hit his tongue, 5 copper each. “Better than guild slop, eh?” she teased.

Next, the Market Square—she darted to a Spice Weaver’s Cart, grabbing Mistpepper Twists, doughy knots dusted with fiery seaflame pepper and ashroot sugar, 3 copper a pair. The heat buzzed, sweet cutting sharp, and she laughed as he coughed, fanning his mouth. They wandered past The Glassblower’s Den, watching molten orbs take shape, then hit a Trinket Trader, where she picked him a shell pendant carved with a cross—2 copper, a nod to his sigil.

Into the Artisan Quarter, she showed him The Weaver’s Loom, looms clacking as ashbark bolts piled high, then a Candlemaker’s Shed, its glimmerstone tapers casting flickers. Lunch was at The Ember Hearth, a tucked-away eatery—Wyrmtail Stew, chunks of wyrm meat simmered with tidevine greens and frostkelp broth, 8 copper a bowl. Rich, chilled spice lingered as she spooned him a bite, grinning.

They ended at the Residential Hollow, perched on a rooftop overlooking the sea, sharing Ashbloom Tarts from a street vendor—flaky pastries stuffed with mistbloom jam, 4 copper each. She pointed out the Shrine to Vyrthralis, its cross glinting, and leaned against him, the salty breeze weaving through her hair. “This is us, Stevey,” she said, content, her new harem-friendly mind humming beneath her smile.