Trust and Touch

Shadowheart’s tent sat on the far edge of camp, half-covered by low trees and the sliver of moonlight catching on her pale skin. She didn’t flinch when I approached—just glanced up from where she sat, legs tucked underneath her, polishing her shiny metal armor.

"You walk loudly. I could hear you coming from the other side of camp," she said, not even looking up.

"Maybe you’re just a little too focused on me," I countered, letting the words hang between us.

She didn’t smirk, but the edge in her voice softened. She looked up, her bright green eyes lingered longer than usual.

"I’ve been thinking," she said slowly."You knew your way around those ruins. The ambush didn’t surprise you. The skeletons? You called the whole thing like you’d seen it play out before."

I tilted my head. "Lucky guesses."

"And Withers called you something strange. Said you had no beginning. No place in his books. What did he mean by that?"

I let silence settle for a breath, then sighed as if weighing a burden. I knew her story—the fierce devotion, the cloaked loyalties, the fragments of her own identity buried beneath a lifetime of indoctrination. She was raised in darkness, her past carved and erased by Shar’s will, **** to have her memories stolen time and time again. Her story was pain wrapped in obedience. And if I wanted to get close enough to twist her loyalties, I’d have to start by pretending to share her pain. I steeled myself and tried play the part, as melancholic as possible.

"I’ve lost parts of my memory," I lied, letting my voice drop just enough. "Not everything, but enough. What I know, I’m not supposed to share. I’m bound to secrecy by... forces bigger than me. Even if I wanted to tell you more, I couldn’t."

Shadowheart blinked slowly, her posture easing.

"You can’t talk about your past... and you’re not sure who you are," she murmured.

"Exactly."

She looked away, swallowing something unspoken.

[Shadowheart: Approval +10]

"Then I suppose we have something in common," she said quietly. The moment lingered, the air heavy with a shared silence that hinted at something tender and unspoken—something like understanding, possibly for the first time she could remember. Delightfully devilish, Graz'zt must be grinning in approval.

"Alright. Show me this parasite-calming technique." She relented

"You trust me?"

"For tonight."

I stepped closer, lowering myself to sit beside her. "Close your eyes. This works best when you’re not overthinking it."

She did. I brought one hand up behind her ear, and with a focused pulse of Alluring Blast, let the softest ripple of psionic energy trace down the side of her face. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away.

"That’s... pleasant," she whispered.

I shifted my other hand gently to her back, just above her clothing. Another slow, subtle wave of energy followed the line of her spine. She exhaled through her nose, body relaxing in small degrees.

Then she flinched—just barely—and a soft sound escaped her lips. She opened her eyes, flushed.

"That’s... enough. Thank you."

"Anytime," I said.

[Corruption: Shadowheart +2]

I left her tent without another word and made my way back to the fire. Lae’zel sat nearby, hunched over a whetstone, her blade already gleaming in the firelight.

"You claim to delay ceremorphosis," she said without looking up. "Is that true?"

"Would you like to find out?"

She scowled, but nodded once. "Try anything foolish and I will take your fingers."

"Understood."

She remained seated. I stepped behind her, resting one hand gently atop her head. She stiffened immediately.

"Stay still now." I said

I pulsed the energy downward—slow and deliberate, tuned to soothe rather than overwhelm. She grunted once, then again, and I felt her posture shift just slightly—her body easing under the unfamiliar sensation.

"What is this sorcery..."

I continued the rhythm, the Alluring Blast tuned low and intimate. Strategic Head pats—gentle, rhythmic, and enhanced with psionic pleasure. It was a foreign sensation to her. Intimacy.

For the first time in her life, Lae’zel let herself feel something soft, and it nearly undid her.

A low moan—deep, involuntary—escaped her before she could stop it. Lae’zel froze, then jolted to her feet in one swift motion, her face flushed deep with fury and embarrassment.

"You dare—!"

"I think we are good for tonight." I blurted out.

She snarled something in Gith and basically lunged into her tent without another word.

[Lae’zel: Corruption +2]

I stretched out by the campfire, folding my hands behind my head, the flames casting flickers of light across the tents.

Two points each. Many more to go.

Thank you so much to all of you who are reading, liking, commenting, favoriting and following, it honestly means the most. This is my first real story so the feedback is really motivating.