Damon didn't get a chance to check his system panel—or even discover the new mechanic, or the mastery of fate manipulation resistance.
What he noticed first was the weight on his chest.
It was white.
No—he was staring at white hair, strands of snow-like hair floating gently as a pair of soft breaths rose and fell against his skin.
A beautiful young woman.
An elf.
Her ears were long, regal, pointed like crescent moons. Her face, though delicate, carried shadows under her eyes—dark circles born not of sleep, but grief. Fatigue. She had waited long. Too long.
Damon tried to move his hand, but—
He tilted his head slightly, wincing, and found his right hand was firmly buried in the bosom of another girl—this one bearing the distinctive ears of a beast-kin. Her long black hair had streaks of white, and her face bore streaks of dried blood.
Her armor reeked of death—blood caked in layers, the aftermath of slaughter still lingering thick in the air.
